A Place between the Secrets
by VitaSeptima
Summary: In the world of espionage, nothing is ever as it seems. An unknown woman, missing Intel, an unreliable asset - if anyone can connect the pieces, it's Ruth Evershed. But this time, the man she trusts the most is withholding information and Ruth is left to wonder if there could ever be a place for her and Harry between all the secrets. Everything belongs to Kudos and the BBC.
1. Chapter 1

The carriage subtly swayed as the train careened along the subterranean track; its passengers silently sitting with their thoughts in the predawn commute. The wheels clicked in a soothing rhythm and Ruth's eyelids fluttered close, only to open again as she struggled to stay awake. It was proving difficult to resist the trance brought on by the movement of the train. A book rested in her hands but her ability to digest the words had exited the train a number of stations back. It was a biography of Shackleton, though for the life of her she couldn't remember how it had found its way into her possession. It certainly hadn't arrived with her new roommate – Beth had landed on her doorstep with only two suitcases and an overnight bag. She must have picked it up with the pile of books she had found in a bargain bin, purchased in an effort to alleviate the emptiness of her flat. In the end, it didn't matter where the book how the book had come into her hands, she was always interested in the lives of historical figures, the elements of their character, how they overcame adversity. Resilience, she had observed, was often the key to success. As of late, her own store of that particular trait was running perilously low. Her eyes wandered over the top of the page and she covertly glanced at her fellow passengers. She had heard to be a good spy one needed to be a good liar, but she was more than that, she was an analyst, a vocation that demanded keen observation and attention to detail. A man stood in front of her, one hand on the rail, another clutching a financial paper, his briefcase on the floor between his feet. Across the aisle sat a young woman, her head moving to an unknown beat, fingernails painted with chipped black polish frantically flying over the keys of her phone. Ruth shifted in her seat, hemmed in by the large bag of the harassed mother who sat next to her. The mother vainly tried to distract her fussy child, squirming uncomfortably in its pram. The toddler threw a bottle out over the side, the mother greeting the action with sharp words. The bottle came to a stop as it hit Ruth's boot and she reached down to rescue it, handing it back to the mother with an understanding smile. She wanted to tell her to be patient with her child, that there may come a day when without warning, it might all be taken away. But she couldn't do that so she sat back in her seat and stared down at the pages of her book, blinking rapidly as images of Nico swam in her memory.

A pleasant female voice announced the next station and Ruth tucked her book into her bag. She stood and wormed her way towards the door, squeezing out onto the platform as the door opened and a tide of new passengers entered the train. She slowed down for a moment to search her pockets for her gloves and then slumped her shoulders in dismay as she realised they must have fallen from her lap when she stood up. She turned to see the doors closing and she gave out a sigh of resignation. So much for attention to detail. Oh well, it was only a pair of gloves, she could manage without them. If Shackleton could spend months crossing a polar sea, surely she could make it the few blocks to Thames House. As the crowd pushed passed her, she watched the train crawl away unable to shake the sinking feeling that more than the gloves had slipped away. She bit her lip and took a deep breath. A hollowness opened up in her chest, a resurgence of a persistent ache, which instead of abating over time, had only deepened over the last few weeks. She could not dwell on it now, better that she persevere.

Exiting the station, Ruth walked into the grey half-light of the morning, that time of year when one came to work in the dark and left when it was as equally dark. Digging her hands into her pockets, she braced herself against the stiff wind that funnelled around the office towers and picked up speed as swept down onto the street. She raised her shoulders to her ears. She would have to invest in a hat as well as a new pair of gloves. Her boot found the epicentre of an icy puddle, the slush seeping through a seam in her sole. She silently cursed to herself and, not for the first time, missed the warmth of Cyprus while simultaneously battling the memories that it invoked. As she walked the three blocks, she focused on the day ahead, giving her mind over to planning and preparation. There were no open protocols so she could tackle her ever growing list of housekeeping. There were a number of assets to be allocated, contacts fostered by Ros now sitting in limbo waiting to be divided up between herself and Lucas. The familiar carved double doors came into view and she hurried through them, expelling a small sigh of gratitude as the heat of the inner sanctum welcomed her. She nodded to the security guard as she passed. He was by now a familiar face although not so familiar as to remember her in her previous incarnation. It was far easier to be cordial to people who had no idea of her past, far fewer explanations needed. She crossed to the lift and settled in just as the door was closing. She jumped when a set of fingers wrapped themselves around the door, interrupting the sensor and stopping the panels from closing.

"Oi, Evershed. Hold up."

With one long-limbed stride, Dimitri joined her inside the lift. Ruth pressed the button for their floor.

"I do have a first name, you know." She cocked her eyebrow at him ruefully.

"Just being professional." He rocked on his heels and then abruptly stopped, leaning down towards her. "Ruth." He pulled off his hat and gloves. "They get you out of bed for this too?"

"I'm always in at this time. Why? What's happening?"

"Got a call from Lucas to come in."

Ruth rubbed her hands together, blowing warm air into the hollow that her fingers had created.

"You should get yourself some gloves" Dimitri dangled his own pair in front of her to demonstrate.

"Yes," she agreed flatly. "I should."

The lift bell dinged as the doors opened and they walked down the hall in companionable silence, early morning small talk not being one of her many talents. The Grid was still relatively peaceful; the only sound the whirr of terminal cooling fans and the clicking of keys. Ruth reached her station and plopped her bag down, not caring for the moment that a few of its contents had spilt out onto the desktop. Unable to shake the chill from the outside world, she decided to remain in her coat and go in search of a hot cup of tea to wrap her hands around. As she turned toward the kitchen, she came up against the unyielding bulk of familiar frame.

"Good, you're in," Harry observed.

Shocked by the sudden contact, she froze, standing against his chest for the space of a heartbeat before she came to her senses. "Sorry, I didn't see you."

She stepped back; opening up what she hoped was a more professional distance between them. He did not move away but remained solidly in place, giving no indication that he was as unsettled as she by the contact. He had the look of a man on a mission and Ruth realised the hot tea would have to wait. In the absence of its warmth, she rubbed her hands together. Harry frowned as he looked down.

"Are you all right?"

"Left my gloves on the tube."

He half raised his hand in the direction of hers but stopped in midair, artfully redirecting it to the motion of straightening out his tie. Her eyes remained on his hand. She was certain he had been about to take her hands in his to warm them. Or perhaps it was her only wishing that he would make such a gesture. It would be of course entirely inappropriate and in no way in accordance with the boundaries they had set. Still...

She raised her eyes to find him studying her and he looked away, clearing his throat.

"I sent you a name. I need you to identify the woman as quickly as possible along with any background you can find. "

"I'll get right on it. "She crossed her arms, ostensibly to warm her hands, but knew she was closing herself off from him in an effort to channel her thoughts on the assignment at hand. "Is this terror related?"

"Not as yet. She was found unconscious in an alley. She's in hospital now. We want to rule out any sort of hate crime."

"Why us and not the Met?"

"Indeed." He looked around the Grid. "Did Beth come in with you?"

Ruth shook her head.

"Get her to help you when she arrives." He stood for a moment, leaving Ruth to wonder if there was something else he needed to tell her. He rubbed his hand across his forehead. "It has been suggested that I acquire an assistant."

"A deputy head?" Ruth offered.

"No. An administrative assistant."

"Ah," said Ruth, "From that, I take it when it has been suggested; it means it's going to happen."

Harry gave her a knowing look from under his brow. For a brief moment, she wondered if he was tapping her to the position a thought which simultaneously flattered and annoyed her. She was not a secretary, she was an analyst.

"I don't know how you've managed thus far without an assistant," she said filling the silence. "It would ease the paperwork and such."

He made no comment on her observation and she felt a little lost that he did not take up the conversation. His eyes slid down to the items that had spilt from her purse. He ran a figure along the edge of her book.

"Shackleton?"

"It was handy." She gave a little shrug of explanation.

"Brave man. Excellent leader."

With those words, he gave the book a final tap with his finger and walked away. Ruth remained rooted to the spot, puzzled by their conversation. Of course, they had never been ones to indulge in idle chit chat but their exchange had seemed significantly briefer than usual. In the past, they had both been guilty of finding ways to stretch out their encounters, making their time together fractionally longer. Something had changed. Her eyes followed him as he walked back to his office, noting that the hair at the nape of his neck now curled over the top of his collar. There had once been a space, no more than the width of her finger, between his shirt and the clean cut edge of his hairline. She closed her eyes. Why on earth would that come to mind as a measurement? The idea of her finger placed along the edge of his collar, sliding across his warm skin. She inhaled a shaky breath. It was an observation, nothing more and it would behove her to stop that line of thinking. Nothing could happen between them. She had been right to say no to his proposal. A healthy relationship could never grow amongst the weeds of their combined guilt and regret. It was too much, too soon. The only thing that bound them was a broken past and the memory of something that almost was.

"I can give you a hand until Beth comes in."

Her eyes flew open and she looked into the bemused face of Dimitri. She mustered a blank look. She would reveal nothing. She had become very adept at hiding her feelings, even from herself. Lucas brushed past them, talking to Dimitri as he shrugged on his coat.

"Come on sailor, you're with me."

Dimitri gave Ruth a parting smile and followed Lucas out the door. She silently thanked Lucas for removing Dimitri before he insinuated anything. She shook off her distracted thoughts and forgetting about the promise of a tea, sat down at her desk. She switched on her terminal and opened up the email that Harry had sent her.

"Alright, mystery woman" she whispered, "Let's see who you are."

After two hours of fruitlessly searching databases, Ruth began to seriously doubt her competency as an analyst. Her concentration was interrupted when an advert from a used car magazine dropped unceremoniously on her desk. Startled, she looked up into the bleary eyes of her roommate.

"What's this?" Ruth asked.

"That's the car you are going to buy," Beth informed her. "So we don't have to take the bloody tube to work." Beth struggled out of her coat and hung it on the back of the chair, giving out a sigh of exasperation when the bulky garment slipped onto the floor.

"I can't afford a car," Ruth countered.

"If I'm paying half the rent the must be a few coins in the couch."

Ruth picked up the advert and scrunched up her nose. "It's American"

"Then get an Astra. There are always reasons not to do something. Why not try saying yes?"

Ruth froze and gave Beth a wary look. She had never divulged anything personal to the young woman. Even over many a shared bottles of wine after work, Ruth had not opened the stopper to her own life. How she had envied Zoe and Danny, the intimate connection they enjoyed, the ability to confide in someone at the end of the day. She could never share her secrets with Beth. It would be a betrayal to Harry, it would undermine his authority, and it would leave her exposed. The wounds were all too fresh. The beep of her phone interrupted her thoughts and she reached for the receiver. The deep voice of Lucas came down the line.

"How are you coming along with your search?"

"Not a blessed thing."

That's because she doesn't exist. That name is a fake.

"That's a relief," Ruth smiled, "I thought I was losing my touch."

"After some persuasion, we were able to find out her real name. It's Amaani Faroole."

"Okay." Ruth found a pen and paper and wrote down the name.

"I need you to find out if she has entered or left the country within the past few weeks."

"Sure." The phone went silent as Lucas rang off and she handed the piece of paper to Beth. "We're looking for any information on this woman. Address, movement, passenger manifest for airlines, ferries, Eurostar. "

"What's up?"

"She was found unconscious in an alley. Ruling out hate crime."

Now that she had a real name, government databases readily gave up a stream of information. Twenty-three years old, daughter of Somali immigrants, UK citizen, still sending money back to family in Mogadishu. Nothing out of the ordinary. She clicked and copied files into a dossier and then moved onto searching the Met database. As she worked, a band of tension formed across her shoulder. She had sat in the same position for too long. She closed her eyes and slipped her fingers under the neckline of her shirt, pressing against the corded muscles. She abruptly stopped when she felt the back of her chair move as the weight of a hand descended on it. Harry leant down over her shoulder and looked at her screen.

"Anything?"

"Yes, now that we have her real name. Amaani Faroole - works as custodial staff in a nursing home, lives with her mother in Walling. Pretty usual stuff."

"Any form?"

"No priors, no involvement with police or drugs. Beth is looking into her travel."

Keeping his arm on her chair, he raised his head a fraction and looked at Beth. His face was close to her own and she studied the faint stubble at the line of his jaw, wondering if he used a razor or an electric shaver. A small nick was visible near his Adam's apple. Razor, she concluded. Her fingers flexed involuntarily on her desk as she resisted the urge to touch the spot. What other wounds lay beneath his suit, scars she could touch with tender hands. She knew the scars that she had caused. She turned her attention back to Beth's voice.

"Nothing has come up so far. She seems to have never left the UK."

"Are you sure?" Harry pressed.

"Not by official channels at least."

Harry turned to Ruth. "Can you dig into that?"

With one hand on her chair and the other on her desk, he brought his face level to hers. For the first time that day she looked directly into his eyes.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked quietly. The brown of his eyes clouded over and he lowered his lids, shutting her out. She had not worked beside this man for years not to know when he was withholding information. Although there were times when he was hard to read - he wore secrets like a second skin. She raised her eyebrows at him in challenge. "Shackleton told his men everything."

"Not his worst fears," he whispered, his mouth close to her ear, the words meant only for her. "Those he left for his diary."

Only a breath separated them and she sifted through her mind for the perfect question that would draw the information from him, but her synapses refused to work, her thoughts strangely jumbled. He straightened up.

"I'm off to meet Lucas. Ring me if anything out of the ordinary crops up."

Ruth watched him walk away. She had always been his confidant, the one he could trust no matter what, but now he was withholding information. Her heart beat loudly, echoing in the hollowness of her chest and the feeling from the morning returned with an even greater intensity. It wasn't from her misplaced gloves or the utter abandonment of her life in Cyprus; it was the loss of something far more immediate. And she wondered if she had been right to let it go.


	2. Chapter 2

The Grid was empty. Ruth stood alone in the middle of the room, looking into the darkness unable to pinpoint the location of her workstation. Tentatively, she walked through the space until she finally came upon what should have been her station but instead saw that it was her desk from the hospital in Cyprus. A wave of relief washed over her. It had all been a horrible dream, George was alive - she needed only to find him. She found herself walking along the hospital corridors but with each step, her heart beat faster. It wasn't George she needed it was someone else. None of it made any sense and somewhere at the edge of her consciousness, she knew that she was dreaming. With the eliding manner of a dream, she walked from the hospital into her old flat, the sun filtering through the stained glass window of her door. This was where she belonged, she was finally home. Harry stood at the end of the hallway and a surge of exquisite happiness flowed through her. She reached out to touch him but he disappeared into the shadows and she gave out a small whimper of despair. Darkness surrounded her and she fell into a strange bed in an unknown room. He was there with her, his face next to hers, his lips on her cheek, his voice in her ear. "Ruth."

Her eyes flew open at the sound of her name. Knuckles rapped on her bedroom door.

"Ruth?" It was Beth. "Are you going in? It's after eight."

Ruth threw her arm over her eyes and groaned, unwilling to let the dream fade. She flung out her other hand and groped for her mobile. Shit. Her alarm had not gone off. "Yes, I'll be right there." She groggily sat up, her toes searching the cold floorboards for her slippers. As she fought to get her arms into her tangled housecoat, she cast a glance over her shoulder at the still warm bed; half hoping that the dream had been true. A silly thought, really. With a huff of resignation, she pushed herself off the bed and headed towards the bathroom, giving a shout to Beth as she walked down the hall. "Just give me a minute and I'll come in with you."

The cold shower pricked at her skin, and she softly cursed Beth for using up all the hot water. The freezing stream served to douse the images from her mind but she was still left with a strange concoction of feelings. Disorientation, anxiety, the relief of finding Harry and then the blissful moment they had shared in bed. She had not dreamed of him in that way in such a very long time. Those fantasies belonged to another time when her life was whole, not broken and scattered. She had firmly closed the door to those sorts of thoughts. Or had she? There was no harm in an illicit thought or two, was there? She studied the droplets collecting on her arm, the water seeping into her pores. How much of Harry had she absorbed? She could wipe him from her conscious thought, but he would always be there beneath her skin. She squirted a handful of shampoo into her hand. She didn't have time for these thoughts.

Stepping out of the shower, she quickly dried herself off and headed back to her bedroom, pulling out drawers, rifling through their contents in search of clothes. The rumpled bed lay before her and she hurriedly straightened out the sheets. She always hated coming home to an unmade bed. She stood with her hands on her hips looking down at the wrinkle free counterpane. She had made her bed, now she had to lie in it. Alone.

"We're going to be late," Beth yelled from the front door.

Ruth ran her hand through her damp hair; she couldn't go out into the cold with it like that. "Just a few more minutes."

"I'm sure Harry won't mind it you're late."

Ruth's steps halted along the hall to the bathroom. She was tempted to turn around and ask Beth what she had meant by that comment but thought the better of it. She hurriedly fished out the hair dryer and blasted the hot air onto her scalp, strands flying every which way, causing her to frown at the mirror as they refused to lay flat.

Even with their late start, they managed to make it to the station in record time and they crammed into a car with the morning rush. Ruth shuffled closer to Beth in an effort to evade the corner of a briefcase that threatened to become embedded in her hip.

"Bet that car seems like a good idea now," Beth muttered.

"Why don't you get a car?" Ruth asked.

"On the salary they pay us?"

"Don't you have something saved from your private contractor days?"

"When I have money I spend money. Saving assumes that you're going to live long enough to spend it."

Ruth studied Beth's face, wondering if she had always held that fatalistic view or if had come from sharing the flat. The train slowed down, eventually stopping in the middle of the tunnel. The lights flickered momentarily and the passengers groaned in unison.

"Why does this always happen at rush hour?" Ruth rummaged through her bag looking for her mobile.

"They always say it's a signal failure but everyone knows the real reason," Beth whispered.

Ruth gave up the search for her phone and drew her mouth into a grim line. She knew what Beth meant; she had firsthand experience with that particular reason. "It's not always that, it's a huge system there's bound to be problems."

After what seemed like an interminably long wait, the train resumed its course and rolled into their station. Ruth was content to follow Beth's lead, letting the young woman cleave a path through the crowd as they headed to the exit. The cold air at the top of the stairs sucked her breath away and Ruth shoved her hands into her pockets.

"Remind me to get a pair of gloves on the way home."

"Remind me to move to Majorca," Beth quipped.

Ruth smiled, admitting to herself that Beth's irreverence was a tonic to keep her from falling into the black hole of her past. Perhaps if she talked to Beth about Harry's proposal it would help to sort out her conflicted subconscious. Ruth looked down at the pavement, the air of happiness seeping from her. She could never talk to Beth about the Harry. Besides the fact that it would compromise everyone, there was the small issue of Beth having lifted her fingerprints from the wine glass during the whole Columbian debacle. As much as she admired Beth's ingenuity, it did complicate the trust factor a tad. She decided to stay on the topic of tropical climates and they made their way through the doors of Thames House. As she stepped out of the pods, Ruth stopped short, leaving Beth to stumble on her heels. Ruth looked about the Grid. Everything was off by about a metre and for a moment she thought she was back in her dream.

"Who's that?" Beth dipped her head in the direction Harry's office.

A desk stood sentry at Harry's door and behind it was sat a woman. Ruth guessed that she was in her early thirties; her dark hair drawn back in a chignon, outfitted in a tailored suit that looked very polished a professional.

"The Harry's new Assistant, I would assume." Ruth's fingers moved self-consciously to her hair and she brushed a wayward strand behind her ear.

"That makes sense," said Beth. "I always thought it was strange he didn't have one."

As she moved towards her desk, Ruth's eyes remained trained on the new development. The woman looked up and caught Ruth's eye, giving her a polite smile. Instead of smiling back, Ruth turned away and sat down at her desk, trying to shake off a feeling of unease, chalking it up to the fact her station was now aligned in a different direction. Images of her dream tumbled to the front of her consciousness and she wondered if she had developed an otherwise unknown talent for prognostication. What else from that dream would come to pass? She removed her coat, telling herself it would only take few days to get used to this new order. That was part of being a spy, after all, adapting to change.

Lucas walked out Harry's office, his stride bringing him over to Ruth's desk. Her smile of greeting was tempered by his brisk words.

"Briefing in ten. Bring what you have on Amaani Faroole."

She nodded and he walked away. Her eyes slid back to Harry's office. Over the years, numerous conversations had happened behind that glass; conversations that she had not been privy too. It had never bothered her before but now it seemed more than a pane of glass separated her from what was happening in that office. She turned back to her work, pulling up the file on the young woman and studied her face. Victim? Perpetrator? Always a puzzle. She synced the information and gathered supplementary documents into a folder, nodding silently when Beth asked if she would like a coffee. Once in the briefing room, she took a seat across from Tariq, relaxing for a moment when the young man gave her a genuine smile. Beth followed behind and plopped a coffee down in front of herself and Ruth. A wave of liquid sloshed over the rim and Ruth moved to absorb it with a scrap piece of paper.

"What's going on?" Tariq asked.

"That's what briefings are for," Beth replied tartly.

"I only asked because Ruth usually knows these things."

Ruth smiled wanly. Yes, she usually knew what was happening. It was just one more unsettling element to add to what was turning out to be a rather unsettling day.

Harry and Lucas entered the briefing room, Lucas sliding the door closed behind him. Harry sat down, straightening out his jacket, fiddling for a second with the cuff of his shirt.

"Two things." Harry took command of the room. "One: the person sitting in front of my office is Sandra Millerson, my new assistant." His mouth twitched slightly as he said the last word. "Introduce yourself when you have a moment." He folded his hands on the table and sat back in his seat. "I'll leave it to Lucas to brief you on the second development."

Ruth's eyes remained on Harry, perplexed by how quickly he had glossed over what she felt was a major shakeup to the status quo of the Grid.

"Yes," Lucas carried on, "It seems our mystery woman, Amaani Faroole has been diagnosed with Smallpox."

Ruth's head spun toward Lucas

"How can that be?" Beth countered. "I thought it was eradicated."

Ruth turned back to Harry, dimly hearing Beth words. His head was bowed and he looked to be intently studying his interlaced fingers. The muscles in Ruth's neck tightened. He had known both pieces of information yesterday and for some reason had decided not to share them with her. He had alluded to a new assistant but failed to mention she would be starting the next day and more importantly he had withheld information about Amaani when she had asked point blank if there was something else going on.

"Officially, it has been eradicated," Harry conceded. "But there are remaining samples in the world." He paused, leaving an opening for Ruth as he usually did when it came to the point in the conversation where she supplied ancillary information. At least that had not changed.

"The CDC in the America and the Vector Institute in Russia." She addressed the group at large but her eyes remained unflinchingly on Harry. He met her gaze, his eyes uncharacteristically hard.

"Do you think the Russians are somehow behind this?" Beth asked.

"It could always be the Americans," Tariq chimed in.

"We need to rule out her travel and points of contact before we start investigating conspiracies or a possible terror elements," Lucas cautioned

"The last documented case was in Somalia." Ruth studied her pen as she twisted it through her fingers.

"It could have come from Africa," Beth conjectured.

"According to your research, Miss Bailey, Harry interjected dryly, "Faroole has not left the country,"

"Through official channels," Ruth amended, coming to Beth's defence. "If we had known about this yesterday it certainly would have changed our search parameters."

"It wasn't confirmed until this morning." Harry did not look in her direction.

"But you had suspicions yesterday; that's why you asked us to look into her travel." Ruth spoke to the table, the coolness of her voice lowering the temperature of the room.

"We have our information now so let's move on it," Harry responded, his tone matching hers, shutting down further comment.

Ruth opened her mouth to respond but then closed it, crossing her legs in frustration, her foot shaking with agitation as she held back her words.

"Please keep in mind," Harry continued, "It is imperative that none of this leaks out to the public or everyone with a sniffle will be turning up at the A&E."

"Where's Dimitri?" asked Beth

"He's with the team moving the patient to the Royal," said Lucas. "They're better equipped to handle the situation there."

"We're maintaining a presence at the hospital until all this is cleared up. Be prepared to work in consort with National Health." Harry looked around the table. "We need to find out how this woman contracted the virus."

Harry stood, effectively dismissing the team. Ruth quickly packed up her papers, trying to catch Harry's eye. In her haste, she lost a few stray sheets on the floor. She knelt down to pick them up and found Lucas bending over to lend her a hand.

"Ruth." He spoke quietly, drawing her attention away from the door. "We still need to go over Ros' contacts." He sensed her hesitancy. "There might be someone in there that could help us should events unfold unexpectedly."

"Of course."

She took the sheets from him and reassembled her notes but by the time she left the confines of the room, Harry was out of sight. What was he doing? She stood by her desk, unable to sit down, her mind churning with the idea that Harry had deemed it acceptable to withhold information. The more she tried to normalise the situation, the more agitated she became. What else was he not telling her? Knowing that she would not be able to focus until the issue was resolved; she made a beeline towards his office. Two steps away from the door, her advance was abruptly halted when a hand shot straight out into her path.

"Hello, I'm Sandra Millerson."

Ruth wobbled, the momentum of her body carrying on even though her feet had stopped. She looked down at the outstretched hand then back up into the face of the woman. "Ruth Evershed." She would give up her name, nothing more.

"If you could wait a moment, Harry's on a call. But I can check his schedule," Sandra continued. "I'm not sure if he has any free space this morning. He's meeting with the Home Secretary."

Ruth's mouth formed into a small circle of disbelief. The ability of the Section to act in a timely manner depended on her ability to walk into Harry's office unannounced. If she needed to start making appointments nothing would get done. Sandra turned away to look at her monitor, leaving Ruth a window of opportunity which she immediately took and walked straight into Harry's office. As she crossed the threshold, she reached back with one hand and pulled the sliding door shut. He was on the phone but that in no way dampened her ire.

"Smallpox?"

Without looking at her, Harry raised his hand and continued to speak into the phone.

"Yes, we're on it. I understand". He replaced the receiver on the hook. "I thought one of the advantages of having an assistant would be to ease the traffic through my door."

"I asked you yesterday if there was something you weren't telling us."

"And I believe I said at the briefing we didn't know anything categorically yesterday."

"She works at a nursing home for God's sake. We don't even know if she's patient zero."

"I am well aware of that."

I can't do my job if I don't have the information."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but isn't that your job," he snapped at her, "Collecting information."

Ruth drew back at the sting of his words. "Are you trying to make things more difficult?"

"I don't see how that would benefit anyone." Harry arranged the papers on his desk.

"And why weren't given any notice about a new member of the team."

"I don't see how that it would affect you."

"I'm your-" She stopped herself, a fitting word failing to materialise in her mind.

"What Ruth? You're my what?" He leaned forward on his desk, challenging her to finish the sentence.

She blinked twice, not knowing what to say.

"Have you finished that book on Shackleton yet?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject. "They say he was a great leader but we forget the fact the expedition went sideways in the first place due to his own mistakes."

The furrow of her brow deepened. Was he talking about himself? Was he somehow to blame for this current situation? Harry raised his head and gave her an unfathomable look, one which she had seen him bestow on many others but never her. She had been severed from his confidence.

"If any other pertinent information arrives I'll let you know." His tone was flat and dismissive.

She nodded and backed away, deciding it was best to retreat from the situation. He was a lion with a thorn in his paw but she was not the mouse who could remove it. Not today. As she passed Sandra's desk, she looked at the woman through hooded lids, feeling that somehow she was to blame for her banishment from the inner circle of information. Returning to her desk, she pulled her chair out with a little more force than was strictly necessary. She barely had time to sit down sit down when Tariq showed up. Placing his long arms on her desk he leant towards her, an earnest look on his face.

"Were there any possessions catalogued for this woman?"

"Such as?"

"A backpack."

"Let's see." Ruth opened the file. "No, nothing documented. She had nothing on her. No identification, nothing."

Tariq canted his head over to his bank of monitors and Ruth silently rose to follow him. He sat down at his station and deftly pulled up a number of screens containing CCTV footage.

"This is the alley where she was found. There are no cameras directly on the space." A figure appeared in the grainy image. "This is her going in."

Ruth squinted at the dim video. "She has a backpack."

"Where is it now?"

Ruth shrugged her shoulders. "Was she mugged? Was it taken from her after she was unconscious?" Tariq gave her a look indicating he had ruled out those choices. "You think she was dropping it off there?"

A number of scenarios ran through her head, each of them more sinister than the last. Ruth called across the Grid to Lucas. He looked up and she motioned him over with her head. She covertly watched as Sandra followed his progress across the Grid. How much was this woman supposed to know about operations? If she was Harry's right hand she would know as much as him, and no doubt more than Ruth. She couldn't tell if she was feeling typical spook paranoia or childish jealousy at being usurped as the Head Girl. As Lucas approached, Ruth filled him in, keeping her voice low.

"Find out what buildings back onto that alley," Lucas told Tariq. "Beth and I will go down and take a look. Maybe if we're lucky it will still be there."

Ruth leaned into Lucas. "If she was delivering something, what do you think it was?"

He looked at her, reading her suspicions in her eyes. "We don't want to get ahead of ourselves."

"Has Harry said anything else to you?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. I don't think he's telling us everything."

"He's not going to do anything that would jeopardise the team."

She nodded in agreement. He was right. She returned to her desk possessed of a determination to ferret out as much information as possible. She would figure it all out despite Harry; she had done more with less. The day moved on leaving her frustrated by the number of dead ends that she encountered. She was vaguely aware of the change in shift and more keenly aware of the stubborn knot in her shoulder. She closed eyes and pressed her fingers into the hardened muscle.

"You're still here."

She started at the voice and looked up to find Harry standing in front of her desk. She glanced around to see the Grid in half darkness, recollecting an earlier conversation where Beth had mentioned she was going home.

"Just finding information as per my job description." She meant the remark to be glib but it came out with more sarcasm than she had intended. Harry, though, had the decency to look a little chagrined.

"You shouldn't be out alone so late at night." He placed one hand on her desk.

She softened slightly at his show of concern, a welcome contrast to his curt tone of the morning and gave him a tiny smile. "I'll be fine."

"I'd give you a lift but I have an engagement."

"I have managed to navigate the dark streets of London by myself for a number of years."

"I know."

"You don't need to worry about me. It's not as if we're-" She broke off the end of the sentence, the smile fading from her lips, the last word left to hang in the air between them. Friends? Engaged? Lovers? For the second time that day she was left unable to define their relationship.

Harry straightened up, withdrawing his hand from the desk and thrusting it deep into the pocket of his overcoat. "But I am your boss and as such, I am allowed to be concerned about my employee."

"Employee," she echoed flatly. She was that if nothing else. The word shone a stark light on their relationship or lack thereof, and she drew in a shaky breath. He must have sensed her vulnerability and he cleared his throat as if to dispel what he had just said.

"I'll see you in the morning then." He moved to leave but casually turned back as if he had forgotten to tell her something. "As I was coming back from my meeting this morning, I came across a little café. Delicious croissants, melt in your mouth. Highly recommend it if you're ever looking for a place to eat."

She gave him a confused half-smile, completely puzzled by his recommendation. Perhaps it was an olive branch, a gesture to alleviate the sting of his earlier words. She didn't know what to say in response. A tired expression stole across his face. She was certain he was about to tell her something but he only nodded and continued toward the pods. She chewed on the tip of her pen as she digested his last comment. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned to her computer and keyed in a search for cafes between Thames House and Whitehall that specialised in croissants.


	3. Chapter 3

Ruth held the glass door open as a young man bearing a tray of beverages exited the shop. He gave her a smile of gratitude and she returned it enjoying the brief moment of interaction with the better side of humanity. As she stepped into the cafe, she was overwhelmed by the scent of fresh baking, and her mood lifted instantly. In such a place, she could easily forget nefarious plots and evil deeds. As she lay awake in bed the previous night, she had convinced herself that her instinct to search for a cafe was warranted. She also concluded that Harry's words were not some sort of overture for a breakfast date. On the surface, she had firmly closed the door on that sort of interaction - Harry had no idea what transpired in her dreams.

She looked around, certain that she would find Harry sitting at a table, but a thorough search of the cafe revealed no sign of him. She checked her phone and gauged that it was the approximate time that he had left his meeting the day before. She stood mired in indecision. The shop was surprisingly quiet, the morning rush having come and gone. Only the click of laptops keys and the rustle of morning papers pervaded. It was a pleasant little place and she decided there was no harm in waiting there a few more minutes. She stepped up to the counter and placed an order. A young woman smiled politely and handed her a stand with a number on it, informing Ruth that the food would be brought to her table. With her coffee in one hand and her number in the other, Ruth scanned the cafe looking for an empty table. A twinge of doubt riddled through her. Still no Harry. Perhaps she had the wrong place. Perhaps she had read too much into his words – that he was only worried about her caloric intake, wanting to make sure she kept up her stamina so she could continue finding information. She let out a small sigh. If it turned out that she was wrong about his signal at the very least she would get a lovely croissant out of it. She squared her shoulders and moved towards a sunlight table by the window, but upon further thought veered in another direction. Instead, she moved to a table hidden in the corner. She sat down and wriggled out of her coat. It was a rather decadent idea to stay if she was only by herself. She was needed back on the Grid, every minute counted when dealing with a virus but for the moment she decided not to care.

A plate with a fresh croissant appeared in front of her and she raised her head to thank the server, only to look up into Harry's face. He set down his own plate and a cup of coffee, acting as if it was the most natural occurrence in the world to meet her at that particular shop. The doubt she had felt earlier melted away replaced by a warm sensation that filled the hollow of her chest with a feeling she vaguely remembered as happiness. Harry grabbed a chair, it's steel legs rasping against the tiled floor as he pulled it around the table and placed it next to her. He sat down without a word of greeting and broke off a piece of his croissant, washing it down with a large gulp of coffee. Ruth watched silently, content with the knowledge that she still knew this man. Unlike her, he remained in his overcoat, focusing instead on breaking off another piece of pastry and popping it into his mouth. He licked a stray flake from his lips, and her eyes followed the flick of his tongue.

"I never took you for a croissant man."

"I would think there's a lot about me you don't know."

He sat in profile, but she could still see the rise of one eyebrow.

"I would think you're probably right." Looking away from him, she covered a slight smile by taking a sip of her coffee.

He leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing up against hers. "Do you remember a young woman from Cheltenham? Transferred to the Section on condition that she would relay certain information?"

Ruth stiffened and pulled her head back, her mind racing with the implication of his words. The warm feeling in her stomach turned into a leaden ball. Why was he bringing that up after all these years? Was this his roundabout way of dismissing her from the section?

"All this time you knew?" she asked quietly.

"I asked Tom not to tell me, but I haven't survived this long without a radar for deceit. And I didn't want to lose a crack analyst. Besides, I had already-" He stopped abruptly.

"Already what?"

He took another bite of his croissant and ignored her question. "Sandra comes to us highly recommended by Vauxhall."

"She's from Six?" Realising that the conversation was not necessarily about her past transgressions, Ruth leaned back into Harry, keeping her voice low. "We've had other people from Six. Adam, Fiona."

"Yes, but they weren't thrust upon us."

"You think she's a mole?"

He put his arm across the back of her chair, bringing his face closer to hers as he whispered. "I don't know what to think. I only know that I did not ask for an assistant."

"But why would she be planted in the Section?"

"I'm of two minds. Either to keep an eye on me or to leak information on our operations." He turned more fully to her. "You may find it hard to believe but I am not holding anything back from you, I am only getting drips of information myself."

"Lucas and Beth haven't found any sign of the missing backpack."

"There's more to this virus. I need you to find out what is really going on."

Nodding in agreement, she absently took a bite of her croissant, mulling over Harry's words. A dusting of icing sugar coated her fingertips and she unconsciously raised them to her lips, licking off the residue.

"I was right, wasn't I?" Harry commented softly. "Melts in your mouth." His face was still close to hers and his eyes lowered to her mouth.

She hesitated, her finger lingering on her lips, her gaze dropping to his mouth. She became acutely aware of the shape of his mouth, the memory of his tongue licking his lips, her own tongue pressing against the roof of her mouth in response. Her need for oxygen was somehow suspended, all thought evaporated, and she was only conscious of him. His arm moved on the back of her chair, pressing into her shoulder and his head tilted slightly toward her. The warmth that had started in her chest flowed out through her limbs, filling her with an urge to lean into him. No one else existed; time had stopped for an instant allowing them a moment of grace in the middle of their clandestine rendezvous. She blinked and her finger fell away from her lips. That was all it took. No sooner had the moment found them then it was lost and as if by a tacit agreement they each pulled back, the noise of the café resurfacing, calling them back to reality. Ruth feigned brushing a crumb from her sleeve while Harry took a long sip of his coffee. He looked away as he spoke to her.

"You were right to say no."

"To what?"

"My offer."

Offer. As if his proposal had been a transaction, an exchange of loneliness for the guarantee of having more than six people at one's funeral. Was that all it was? Was there nothing else between them beyond an illicit bond of subterfuge?

"Everything is already complicated enough," Harry continued. "If anything were to happen between us it would only make things more..."

"Complicated," she finished the sentence for him.

He removed his arm from the back her chair, taking with it all the intimacy and warmth she had briefly enjoyed. He gathered up his gloves and tapped them on the table, putting a period on the end of their conversation. With no further word, he stood up and walked away. It had been nothing more than a meet, she was his agent, and their business had been transacted. She sat at the table watching him exit through the door, already missing the small moment of happiness that his presence had brought her. She wanted to feel it again. She blindly searched for the arm of her coat, thinking that if she hurried she might catch up to him and admit that she was wrong, that she would give them a chance. As she stood up, her hand brushed the coffee cup that Harry had left behind. It wobbled precariously and before she could right it, the mug tumbled off the edge of the table, landing with a resounding crash on the floor below. Ruth stood in shock, the broken pieces of china scattered at her feet. She softly cursed. Why was she always so clumsy? Clumsy with china, clumsy with papers, clumsy with people's hearts. Everything she touched was fractured. The young woman from behind the counter arrived with a dustpan and broom.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Ruth apologised profusely, a note of panic in her voice, not sure if she was apologising to the server or to Harry.

"Don't worry it happens all the time."

The waitress smiled at her and Ruth sat back down in her seat, silently thankful for the woman's kind words, feeling a sense of assurance that there were still good people in the world. Her eyes found the front door, resigned to the fact that Harry was out of reach by now, swallowed up by the crowd of pedestrians rushing along the pavement. He was right, a relationship between them would be too complicated, bound to break under the pressure of their lives. She continued to watch the crowd rushing past the window, knowing that she would always be separated from their everyday lives by a pane of glass.

….

The wind nipped at her with a bitter bite as she walked back to Thames House. Her hands were wrapped around a takeaway cup of coffee, but the heat from the beverage did little to warm her fingers. She made her way up to the Grid and stopped beside Beth's desk. She carefully placed the cup down in front of Beth, reluctant to relinquish the source of heat. Her fingers were numb and she flexed them, hoping to get the blood flowing back through her frozen digits.

"What's this for?" Beth asked.

Ruth shrugged her shoulders. "I can't afford a car so I got you a coffee."

"Thanks," Beth responded with a smile. She gestured at her monitor. "I've got a present for you too."

Ruth leaned down to the screen, taking in the lurid banner line that promised to expose stories the government did not want the public to know. "This is a conspiracy site. It generates clicks for advertising."

Beth tapped an article displayed on the screen. "The delay on the tube yesterday, it was because of him. The official line is he jumped, but this site says differently."

Ruth rested a hand on Beth's desk, her shoulders sinking, a wave of dread washing over her. Memories of entrapment and doctored tube footage filled her mind along with Harry's words that Sandra was there to watch him. It had to be something completely different - they wouldn't use the same method again. She was being paranoid.

"Are you alright?" Beth looked at her with concern. "Have you eaten today?"

"How did you come across this?" Ruth stood up, straightening her shoulders in an effort to dispel any indication that she was affected by the news.

"I was looking up Amaani's associates at the nursing home. This man Edward Kessel was a doctor there."

"Bring up the article again."

Opening up a new window, Beth enlarged the article, revealing a picture and a biography of Edward Kessel. Ruth pointed to a line.

"Member of the BSI? What's does that stand for?" She pondered the letters for a moment, running through combinations in her head and finally landing on one. "British Society for Immunology. That would make our Doctor Kessel far more interesting, wouldn't it?" Ruth looked around the Grid. "Where's Harry?" Apparently, he had not come straight back to the Grid as she had.

"Meeting with the NHS." Beth lowered her voice. "According to the Sandra." The last syllable the name was drawn out in such a manner that Ruth couldn't help but smile.

"If this site claims to have information that the government doesn't want the public to know, how is it that we don't know about this?"

"There are other arms of the government," Beth pointed out wryly. "Should I take the initiative and go look around the recently departed doctor's office?"

"I think initiative is always rewarded. Don't say anything to Sandra." Ruth ignored the puzzled look from Beth. "Send me the link to that site. I want to see if there is any other information the government doesn't want the public to know."

Ruth sat down at her desk and switched on her monitor, wondering how all the disparate threads tied together. She took off her coat and then opened up her desk drawer, in search of a pen. She stopped, puzzled by what lay inside. Resting on top of the paper clips and notepads was a small, navy coloured bag. She looked about the Grid thinking that someone had accidentally placed it on her desk. No one said anything, everyone remained occupied with their own business. Curiosity getting the better of her, she cautiously pulled out the bag and opened it. Inside lay a pair of black gloves. She tentatively traced her fingers over the soft leather. Perhaps Beth was referring to the gloves when she spoke of a present before they had become sidetracked in their discussion of the website. Of course, she knew better, only the other day Beth had bemoaned her lack of funds and the gloves bore the hallmarks of an expensive purchase. There was always Dmitri, he had noticed that she didn't have any gloves. Logically, she knew that she was coming up with these scenarios in order to avoid admitting who had really given her the gloves. She sensed a movement by her desk and looked up to see Tariq.

"Beth mentioned on her way out that you were looking into a website."

Ruth hastily put the gloves back in the bag. "Yes, it has an article on someone in Amaani's circle and we're trying to figure out where the information came from."

"I saw Harry put that in your desk," Tariq motioned to the bag. "I wondered what it was."

Ruth hastily crammed the bag back into her drawer. "I mentioned I had lost my gloves and..." she trailed off as she closed the door with a snap. "Let me show you the site."

She stood and walked over to Tariq's station, leaving the young man with no choice but to follow her. As he took his seat, she typed in the address to the website. She kept her focus on the computer as she spoke to him, lowering her voice. "I need you to go through Sandra's system."

"You want me to spy on her?"

"Somehow this website is getting information. There's a leak." She drew a connection between the two incidences, completely unsure of the validity of her assertion. She needed Tariq on side. She was only doing what Harry had done to her. "Send me anything that looks suspicious, anything that looks like it could be coded."

"Does Harry know about this?"

She nodded. "But don't tell anyone else, just me."

Tariq nodded and Ruth felt a momentary pang of conscience. Spying on one's colleagues was always ethically dubious but then again almost everything they did fell under that umbrella.

"You know," Tariq quietly continued, "She also has a phone."

Ruth smiled at him, secretly pleased at his willingness to aid and abet her subterfuge. She straightened up and calmly walked over to Sandra's desk.

"Do you have any idea when Harry will be back?" Ruth ran her finger nonchalantly over the edge of the desk.

"After the meeting with the NHS, he is at the Home Office. Mid afternoon, I would think."

"He certainly has been in a lot of meetings lately."

"I wouldn't know, I just started."

Ruth was only half listening as her eyes darted about the desktop searching for a mobile. She spotted one, sitting beside a pile of folders. She looked back at Sandra and gave the woman a benevolent smile. "Are you settling in alright?"

"It takes a while to adjust to new things."

"I remember when I started I felt like such an outsider. The team was really tight, everyone knew each other, I was plopped in the middle of things. Give it time."

Sandra looked at Ruth with an expression of gratitude. There was something genuine in the woman's eyes, strangely open for a spy. Perhaps she was merely a pawn with the transfer to Five dangled as a reward for relaying information without fully being aware of the consequences. But giving people the benefit of the doubt was always a risk and her own misgivings about the woman were now backed up by Harry. She begrudgingly admitted that the woman was rather pretty, with her perfect hair and coordinated ensemble. Someone so well put together would never break china mugs or accidentally spill briefing papers. That was Ruth's forte. She gave Sandra one last smile.

"Just let me know if you need anything." She turned to leave, her hand glancing against the pile of folders. The force was enough to pull the bottom one out, causing the rest of the files to topple over the side of the desk. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," Sandra assured her, kneeling down to rearrange the papers.

Ruth slid her hand over the mobile, quickly palming it and dropping it in her pocket. "I am such a klutz." She knelt down and helped Sandra with the papers. "I remember on my first day, I battled with a desk lamp. I lost. I should know better by now."

"Don't worry, I can manage," Sandra took the papers from Ruth.

"I'd better get back to my desk before I do any more damage."

Ruth stood up and stepped away, leaving Sandra to sort out the mess. She casually walked past Tariq's station and discreetly placed the phone on his desk. She paused for a moment and spoke quietly.

"Some folders fell off her desk. Perhaps the phone fell with them and slid under her desk."

Tariq nodded understanding how he could return the mobile without suspicion. Ruth continued back to her workstation.

Settling back into her seat, she felt rather pleased with herself. She glanced down her desk drawer. She slowly opened it and extracted the gloves from the bag. They really were beautiful. She slid her hand inside the soft leather, the material moulding to her fingers like a second skin. A faint earthy smell tickled her nostrils. She flexed her fingers, the new leather creaking faintly as she balled her hand into a fist. It was a powerful feeling. Is that what Harry felt when he wore his gloves? She slowly uncurled her fingers. Why would he say it was right for her to refuse him and then leave her such a present? What on earth was she to do with that man? She couldn't accept such an expensive gift. It would send the wrong message.

"Ruth," Lucas called to her.

Her head jerked up as if she were a thief caught in the middle of a crime. She hid the gloves in her lap. Lucas crossed over to her workstation.

"Grab your coat and come with me."

She opened her mouth to ask where they were going but then thought the better of it. Sandra might be listening. She hurriedly slipped free of the gloves and placed them back in their bag. She put the bag back in her drawer and firmly shut it, leaving them in the darkness where they belonged. She would revisit that subject at some other time.


	4. Chapter 4

The entrance to the hospital was heralded by two huge bands of stainless steel rising from the pavement; a sculpture of Pisces Major, two fish forged together yet pulling apart. The sail like curve of an awning stretched overhead as the doors of glass and chrome yawned before them. Ruth picked up her pace as she walked alongside Lucas, the length of his strides leaving her slightly breathless. Once through the front doors, they passed by the ubiquitous floor plan without giving it a second glance, Lucas apparently certain of his destination. They moved from the warm welcoming colours of the outer lobbies into the antiseptic white of the inner corridors, following a maze of veins that led them to the heart of the hospital. The hermetically sealed air hung heavy around them, stale with the smell of waiting, a windowless world that ran on its own time. With each step, she was reminded of her time in Cyprus and if she closed her eyes she could envision that she was back there. Images of her dream gnawed at her consciousness; how the Grid had become the floor she had worked on at the hospital. A familiar feeling of anxiousness clawed at her, but it was not born of the fear of missing someone.

"I'm not sure about this," Ruth whispered to Lucas.

"It will be fine. There are protocols in place to protect us."

"No, I mean we should have told Harry."

"Unlike you, I don't have to run every decision past him."

Ruth stopped with her mouth slightly agape, more than a little incensed at his aspersion.

"I do not-" She quickly cut herself off when she realised that Lucas was continuing on down the hall without her. She trotted after him coming up alongside his shoulder as she whispered harshly. "I do not run every decision past Harry."

"Good. Then there's no need to tell him."

Stepping up to a security door, Lucas firmly pressed a button. He looked up, and Ruth followed his gaze to an overhead camera. After a few moments, a buzzer sounded and the lock clicked open allowing them entry. An orderly opened the door and behind him stood Dimitri. The agent gave Ruth a puzzled expression and then turned his attention to Lucas.

"I thought you were bringing Harry."

"I didn't say that," Lucas countered.

"You said it was time to bring in the big guns."

"Clearly, you have not been paying attention to how the section is run."

Any of the previous ire Ruth had felt toward Lucas was somewhat abated by his last comment. At least he knew her worth if no one else did. The three spooks walked along a short corridor and arrived at a nursing station. The nurse ushered them through yet another door into a dim room filled with the blinking lights of various monitors. A young woman rose from a chair, her lab coat denoting her senior standing although Ruth surmised she was not a physician but a technician. The woman greeted Lucas with a steely expression and pointed at Ruth.

"Has she been cleared?"

"I'm clearing her," Lucas countered. "She needs to speak with Amaani."

"The doctor says she is in no condition to answer questions."

"I understand but this is a matter of national security. My colleague is known for her sensitivity in these matters."

Ruth gave the woman a faint smile, not at all certain that she could live up to Lucas' estimation. He placed his hand on her elbow and ushered her to a desk.

"What do you want me to do?" Ruth asked in a low voice.

"She's given us nothing. Try your persuasive best," Lucas answered.

The technician grimaced and moved to one side making room for Ruth to sit down. Lucas motioned to a small intercom that sat on the desk.

"You just need to press the button to speak," he informed her.

An illuminated dial indicated that the interior room was securely isolated. The steady red light calmed her fears, and Ruth took a deep breath, peering through the window into the sealed room. Sheets of plastic surrounded the bed, almost obscuring the figure that lay inside it. After a moment, she could make out the form of a young woman, her arms and shoulders exposed, her dark skin ravaged by the pink pustules of smallpox. Ruth inhaled shakily at the sight. She turned to the woman in the lab coat.

"Is she in much pain?"

"We're keeping her as comfortable as we can."

"What about her family?"

The woman cast a glance at Lucas before she answered. "We can't let them in."

It was at that moment that Amaani Faroole became more than a name in a dossier. She was a young woman alone in a room, sealed off from everyone she knew. A victim of quarantine and secrecy. No one should have to suffer alone. There must be a way to help her. Ruth pressed the button on the small console and leant into the microphone.

"Amaani." The girl did not stir. Ruth cleared her throat and raised her voice a notch. "Amaani" The girl opened her eyes. "Hello Amaani, my name is-" she caught herself, wondering if she should reveal her identity. She decided that her honesty might be rewarded. "My name is Ruth. We want to help you. I just need you to answer a few questions. Can you do that for me?" The woman turned her face away from the window. "If you help me I can get your family in to see you." Her voice was soft and cajoling, reminiscent of how she once spoke to Nico when coaxing him to finish his dinner with the promise of a treat. She could feel Lucas' eyes on her and she winced inwardly, knowing that she could never fulfill her promise to Amaani. It was pure emotional manipulation but she ignored the pang of her conscience and decided to press on.

"I don't know if you're aware but Doctor Kessel is dead." The girl's hand rose from the bed sheet. Ruth looked at Lucas, their eyes meeting in silent agreement that the motion was a possible sign of a link between Amaani and the nursing home doctor. "So if you're protecting him you don't need to worry about that anymore."

Ruth kept her finger on the intercom, afraid to release the button. The air in the unit was warm. A trickle of sweat ran down her spine. She should have taken her coat off before she started but now it was too late.

"We think he was involved with some very bad people but we won't let anything happen to you or your family. But to do that we need some information. When you were in the alley, were you meeting up with someone?"

Ruth waited. No one in the room moved. The hum of a monitor grew louder as the silence stretched out. She held her breath, hand shaking slightly, wondering if it was all a lost cause.

"Morningstar," Amaani finally whispered. "His name is Morningstar."

Ruth let out a slow stream of breath. Lucas made a circle gesture indicating that she should continue her questioning. She kept her voice calm.

"Can you tell us anything else? Did you see Morningstar?"

"No. I wake up here."

"You had a black backpack. Do you know where it is? Do you know what was in it?

"No, I don't know anything." Amaani's voice wavered. "The doctor said he would give me money for my family." The tremor in her voice turned to a sob. "I want to go home. I want to see my Mama."

Ruth stared at the sobbing young woman overcome by a feeling of utter helplessness. One night in Cypress, Nico had woken from a bad dream calling for his mother. She had gone to comfort him but he had wanted his Mama, his real mother, and his anguish had cut her to the quick. She was not his real mother only a substitute. She roused herself and spoke back into the microphone.

"It's alright, Amaani. We'll get you home. You've been very brave. We're going to let you rest now."

Ruth released the intercom button and sat back in the chair, closing her eyes. She heard Lucas speaking softly to the technician. Ruth opened when someone touched her arm. She thought it was Lucas but it was the technician. The woman glanced to the side, making sure that Lucas was not listening.

"I don't think it's smallpox," she confided intently. "The doctors don't' want to admit it but none of the treatments are working. I don't think she has much longer to live."

"Thank you for telling me." Ruth nodded. "That's a very useful piece of information."

"Like you, I don't want to see anyone suffer."

Ruth rose from her seat unable to meet the technician's eyes and followed Lucas out through the security doors. They walked back through the secure area and along a winding corridor eventually ending up in a waiting room.

"Stay here for a minute. I've got to make a call." Lucas walked away before she could object.

Ruth found a seat in the waiting area and tried to find a comfortable position on the hard chair. A fluorescent light flickered in the ceiling and she did her best to ignore the intermittent hum. There was no one else in the room; she didn't even know which particular ward it served. She glanced at her mobile and seeing that there was no reception she quickly put it back in her pocket. A smattering of interior decorating magazines lay on a low table and she absently picked one up. She flipped through the glossy pictures of elegantly done over rooms. Who were the people that lived in these houses? What did they do with their time? She flicked to a page showcasing a renovated cottage and stared down at the page. All her reasons for saying no echoed in her head. She quickly closed the magazine and tossed it back on the table. She felt hemmed in by the walls and her memories. In an effort to alleviate her claustrophobia, she stood up and walked around the room. A bulletin board hung on one wall displaying a chart of infectious diseases and their various emergency procedures. She stood and studied it. A pamphlet caught her eye and she unpinned from the board, hastily glancing through the pages. The sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts and she looked up to see Lucas accompanied by Harry. She moved to greet them but stopped when she saw the thunderous look on Harry's face. He stopped in front of her but addressed his words to Lucas.

"You are of course aware that this goes against all protocol. Only you and Dimitri have been granted access. You were the only ones given the vaccine."

Ruth's eyes flashed at Lucas, her heart falling into her stomach at the realisation that he had possessed another level of protection that she did not.

"There are safeguards in place, Harry," Lucas assured him.

"I don't care. It was an unnecessary risk."

"We did get some information," Ruth interjected. "A name. Morningstar. She was taking whatever was in the backpack to them."

"Is Morningstar a name or a codeword?" asked Harry.

"We don't know but I think it's safe to say from her reaction to Edward Kessel's name that she was working for him."

"Who is Kessel?" asked Harry.

"Doctor at the nursing home. He's a member of the British Society for Immunology. And I just came across this." She handed the pamphlet to Harry.

"Conference on Infectious Diseases." His brow furrowed as he read the title.

"It starts in three days. Delegates from around the world," Ruth added, unable to contain her excitement at finding a possible link.

"Did we know about this?"

"It probably didn't ping on our radar since it's mainly focused on retroviruses. HIV, Aids."

"We'll need to bring the whole team in on this." He turned and addressed Lucas. "Get a low-level brief on the conference."

"We'll to have to investigate everyone attending," said Lucas.

Harry inhaled deeply. "Alright. But we can't tread on any international toes."

Lucas nodded and walked away heading down the corridor. Ruth made to follow him but was stopped by Harry's hand on her arm.

"Not so fast. You're coming with me." He transferred his grip to her elbow and ushered her back down the corridor in the direction of the secured ward.

"I don't understand." She picked up her pace to keep up with Harry's faster steps. "What's going on?"

"You're not afraid of needles, are you?"

They arrived back at the secured doors and he released her arm in order to ring the bell. Ruth felt as if she were in some sort of Kafkaesque nightmare, destined to continually roam the hospital corridors only to end up back in the same spot. The buzzer sounded and the orderly let them in. Dimitri stood to one side as they entered and gave Harry a nod, reserving a sly smile for Ruth as if to say the real boss had arrived. Ruth pursed her lips and avoided his gaze. They met the young nurse from before and she escorted them to a small examining room where she politely told them they would need to wait a minute while the vaccine was organised. She closed the door leaving Harry and Ruth alone in the room.

"You might as well take off your coat and get comfortable," Harry suggested, taking off his overcoat.

Ruth took a step back and came up against an examining table. His words were strangely disquieting. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"You may have been exposed. You might be exposed in the future. I don't think there is anything to debate at this point."

As he extracted his arm from his suit jacket, he accidentally hit a model of a human heart. It landed on the desk with a thud and the front flap fell open. Ruth quietly studied the exposed inner chambers as Harry finished taking off his jacket. Strange, that a muscle of tissue and blood should be the symbol of such profound feeling. Harry snapped the flap shut, mumbling under his breath as he sat the heart upright. The plastic model looked undamaged by its fall if only all hearts were made that way. She looked at Harry. At least she wasn't the only person clumsy with hearts.

"You don't have to stand guard over me," she told him.

"I'm getting it too." He ran a hand over his face. "We should probably get Beth here; we don't know where this conference might lead." He draped his jacket over a chair and retrieved his mobile from the outer pocket.

"I don't think you can get any reception in here."

He logged off his phone and deposited it back in his pocket. Ruth wriggled free from her coat and laid it on the only other available chair. Deciding to remain standing, she leant back against the table, folding her hands in front of her and slowly rotated her thumbs around. She looked around the small room, focusing on anything but the man who stood before her. The whiteness of his shirt stood out in the room and it was strangely unnerving, she couldn't remember the last time she had seen him divested of his jacket. Harry put his hands in his trouser pockets and leant against the wall. She could feel his eyes on her. A silence grew between them augmented by the hum of the industrial intake fan in the ceiling.

"You know when they say a "minute" in a hospital they don't actually mean a minute," Ruth nervously commented in an effort to break the silence. "Unless you're bleeding or unconscious."

"You know this from experience?"

She shrugged her shoulders, not bothering to mention she was well acquainted with the culture of hospitals. "It's like our line of work, constantly shifting priorities."

"Then we have time to discuss things."

He took a step away from the wall, the bulk of his figure filling up the confines of the room. She moved against the table and the flimsy paper that covered the vinyl padding rustled behind her. She was worried that he might take this enforced proximity as an opportunity to discuss personal matters. Though he had put a bracket on their involvement when they had met at the café, there was a vaguely possessive quality in the way he was treating her. He stood in front of her and tilted his head.

"Who is this Doctor Kessel? What do you think his involvement is?"

Ruth swallowed in relief. "I think that Amaani was a courier taking a package from him to someone else. I think the answer might lie with a delegate at the Infectious Disease Conference."

"Do we know anything about Kessel?"

"I've sent Beth round to his office-"

"You took it upon yourself to send Beth?"

"Do I need permission?" she asked archly, remembering Lucas' comment about her need to run things past Harry, which obviously she had demonstrated she didn't need to do.

Before Harry could answer there was a cursory knock on the door. The nurse walked in carrying a kit with needles.

"Right then. Who's first?" She looked at Harry. "You, sir?" Harry nodded. "Good. If you'd like to sit down."

"I don't think that will be necessary."

"Just a precaution," the nurse responded cheerily.

Ruth suppressed a smile, recognising the placating tone that nurses used when dealing with a recalcitrant patient. Harry gruffly relented, and Ruth moved out of the way in order for him to take a seat on the examination table. He stepped on the small footstool and hefted himself onto the table. Ruth found herself backed into a corner as the nurse moved in.

"You'll have to roll up your sleeve, please."

With a flick of his thumb, Harry opened the button on his shirt cuff and snapped his wrist back as he quickly rolled up his sleeve. Though she tried to look away, Ruth found her eyes drawn to the exposed sinews of his forearm, watching fascinated as he moved the fabric up and over his bicep. There was still definition in the muscle, enough to give the impression of strength. A dusting of golden hair lay over his skin and a large blue vein pulsed at the crook of his elbow. Many times she had wondered what lay beneath the material of his suit but now that she was confronted with a glimpse of the actual man she felt strangely voyeuristic as if she should not be in the room with him. The nurse dabbed a cotton swab on his arm and her eyes briefly flew up to Ruth.

"Are you alright."

"Yes, I'm fine." Ruth straightened up, attempting to regain some composure.

"You might want to look away," the nurse advised Harry as she prepared the needle. "It's larger than a regular needle so it may sting a bit."

Ruth looked up from Harry's arm to find his eyes trained on her. She fought the urge to look away, thinking that it would be cowardly to do so, wanting to hold his gaze as a sign of reassurance. As she looked at him, the colour of his eyes subtly shifted becoming a deep, warm brown and she couldn't help but give him a tentative smile. The lines around his eyes softened in response and the muscles of his face relaxed making him look years younger. If she had to put a name on it, she would say it was a look of trust.

"Good."

The nurse's voice broke the spell. With professional efficiency, she placed a bandage over the mark on Harry's arm. He quickly rolled down his sleeve and slid off of the examination table making way for Ruth. She stepped up and sat on the table.

"Does this come off?" The nurse pointed to the soft shelled blazer Ruth was wearing. "Are you wearing something underneath?"

Knowing that Harry had heard the question, a warm flush slowly crept up Ruth's neck to her cheeks and she nodded to the nurse. Aware of his gaze, her fingers shook slightly as she undid the belt. Even though the room was warm, she shivered as she pulled her arms free of the jacket sleeves. Under the jacket, she wore a modest blue tee shirt, by all accounts very respectable, but she still felt exposed, conscious that the dip of her neckline revealed the shadow between her breasts. The nurse took Ruth's arm and swabbed it with cotton. She kept her face away from Harry, certain that he was still watching her, feeling as if she was on display. At least she didn't need to worry about the shape of her arms; they were still nicely toned from her days of swimming. A thought crossed her mind. If she had often wondered what lay beneath the fabric of Harry's suit, how many times had he wondered the same about her?

"Look away if you want," the nurse suggested.

Ruth turned her head and dropped her eyes to the floor, focusing on the toes of Harry's shoes. The highly polished leather shone back at her and she wondered if he brushed them with paste from a tin. She could hear the nurse talking to herself as she fiddled with the needle. Without thinking, Ruth let eyes wander up the crease of his trousers to his belt, over the row of buttons at the front of his shirt and before she knew it she was looking into his eyes. Instead of his earlier warm gaze, his eyes met hers dark and heavy-lidded. She wanted to look away but he drew her in. He held her, one second, then two. Her throat constricted and the pace of her pulse increased, the beat of heart counting off each passing second. If she didn't look away soon she would fall over the edge. Control, that was all she needed. The needle pricked her skin and she hitched her breath in surprise. That was all it took. Her heart became unmoored and tumbled out of her chest, falling down into the space below her ribcage. She tried to calm but her breathing but her chest moved of its own accord. His eyes fell from hers, glancing down at the rise and fall of her breasts.

"We're done then," the nurse's cheery voice broke through the haze. "The site of the injection will get red, it might blister up. Keep it clean. There could be headaches or nausea. If you're feeling unwell don't hesitate to come back here."

The nurse packed up her kit and the door clicked firmly closed behind her. A loaded silence fell over the room. Ruth sat on the table unsure of what to do next. The room was warm from lack of circulation and her head swam for a second perhaps an after effect of the vaccine. Harry transferred his weight from one foot to the other bringing him closer to the table. He looked as uncertain as she. She reached down to her jacket and slowly slid her arms into the sleeves, trying to puzzle out what had just happened between them. She closed her eyes. Nothing. But it felt as if something had, that the mere act of bearing their arms was tantamount to something physical. She closed her belt not knowing how to deal with the feelings churning inside of her. The paper ripped as she slid off the table. Harry reached down and picked up her coat, holding it open to her so she could slip inside. She wanted to say something to break the spell, to ease the thickened air but she had no words. He eased the coat over arms and he let his hands rest on her shoulders. The weight steadied her and she relished the feel of his hands. It would be so easy to turn around and kiss him. Surely he would welcome it; he would wrap his arms around her and hold her in tight to his body. She took a step and his hands fell away. She turned to find him reaching for his suit jacket. He proceeded to put on his overcoat, patting his pockets to make sure he still had his mobile and his gloves. For a moment, he stood looking at her and then crossed to the door. He held it open and she stepped out before him. The silence of the room followed them as they slowly walked down the corridor. They didn't need words. They knew what had happened.


	5. Chapter 5

If information truly was the currency of democracy, Ruth Evershed would be a very rich woman. A stack of folders stood like a tower of coins on her desk, the contents of which she had efficiently reduced down to a few key pages. She ran the tip of her pen along the lines of a document, quickly scanning for places, dates, kernels of information that could lead to a discovery. It wasn't speed reading; too many details were lost that way. It was her method of digesting the greatest amount of data in the least amount of time. The pen was a laser guiding her eyes, allowing her to block out all distractions. She stopped on a line and blindly reached out across the desk for a marker. Realising that there was none to be found, she opened her desk drawer and paused when her hand touched an unfamiliar object. The navy bag. It sat on top of her supplies waiting patiently for her decision. At the reminder of the gloves, all of her concentration evaporated. They called to her, tempting her with promise of the unfulfilled. They were merely gloves. Would it be so wrong to accept them? Her hand slipped inside the bag, her fingers brushing the soft leather, the sensation conjuring images of Harry and what had passed between them in the little hospital room.

"Ruth."

Withdrawing her hand from the bag as if it were on fire, she looked up and found Lucas standing by her desk. She quickly closed the drawer, shutting away the gloves and all the thoughts that they evoked. She gave Lucas an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I was lost in thought."

"Do we have enough leverage on him?"

"I think so."

"How would you feel about handling him?" Lucas came around the corner of her desk and crossed his arms as he leant back against it.

"Me?" Ruth drew her head back in surprise. "What about Beth?"

"I think your skill set would better suit a man of his intellect."

Ruth frowned unsure if she should be flattered or not by his assessment. "If you think I could handle him."

"I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you couldn't. He's already recruited. You just need to bring him in and I'll help you develop him."

Ruth nodded, once again wondering if she could live up to Lucas' estimation of her.

"Good. " He straightened up from the desk. "Let's get this briefing out of the way."

Ruth hastily gathered up her materials and followed Lucas to the briefing room. The rest of the team had already established themselves at the table, leaving one available seat beside Harry and one beside Dimitri. She chose the seat beside Dimitri.

"Evershed," he greeted her, an impish smile on his lips. He dipped his head toward her, lowering his voice. "Did you get a new pair of gloves yet?"

Her fingers paused on the papers that she was arranging and she cast a sideways glance at Tariq. Had he said something to Dimitri? If he had it certainly wasn't with malicious intent, nonetheless that was exactly the type of suggestive talk she wanted to avoid. Her fingers curled around her papers and her decision regarding the gloves became easier. She ignored Dimitri's question and returned to organising her notes. She was painfully aware of Harry's presence at the end of the table. Had he heard Dimitri's comment? She dare not risk a glance at him. Even though she wore a bulky cardigan, she could feel his eyes on her, touching her skin, her arms, the swell of her chest. She resisted the urge to meet his eyes, to join him in a moment in unspoken connection. Instead, she pulled out her pen and used it to focus her attention on the papers in front of her. So intent was she on blocking out all distraction that she jumped when Harry took command of the room.

"What do we have so far?"

In answer to Harry's question, Ruth cleared her throat and rose from her seat. Tariq handed her the remote and she turned it over in her hands as she brought her nerves under control. She pointed it at the screen and brought up a passport photo of a beautiful young woman, her face unmarred by the ravages of smallpox. Ruth stared at the photo, remembering how Amaani now lay in isolation and took a moment to compose herself.

"Amaani Faroole, second generation Somali, no form, completely above board. Never left the country but sends money to relatives still in Mogadishu. Found unconscious in an alleyway. Admitted to hospital with suspected smallpox. Works as custodial staff at the Redfern Retirement Villa.

Ruth clicked the remote changing the screen to a photo of a man in his late fifties.

"Edward Kessel, also employed by Redfern, died two days ago of a reported accident, apparently he slipped and fell onto the track at a tube station.' Ruth turned to the faces around the table, her expression indicating that she thought it was no accident. "As well as a degree in geriatric medicine, Kessel also holds a degree in molecular biology. That in itself is not surprising, except for the fact that this is happening." She clicked the remote once again bringing up a logo. "A conference on retroviruses, in the city, starting in two days. Two hundred delegates and twenty speakers.

Ruth stopped for a moment as her eyes landed on Harry. He was leaning forward with his chin resting on his hands, looking at her intently. Her train of thought momentarily derailed her and she looked back at the screen to get her bearings. Lucas stepped in.

"The CCTV around the alley indicates Amaani entered with a backpack but it was not found on her person. When we interviewed her at the hospital she indicated she was to give it to someone named Morningstar."

"And Morningstar is at the conference?" asked Harry

Ruth clicked on the remote and brought up another photo of two young men in lab coats.

"Early in his career, Kessel worked for Bionex, doing research into anti-aging drugs. During that time he worked this man." She clicked on another picture. "Vincent Otero. He's attending the conference. We think he might be Morningstar."

"Is there a concrete connection?" Harry asked.

"Luckily for us," Tariq sat forward, "Kessel made calls from a payphone at the retirement home and we traced them to an undisclosed number in Argentina."

"Otero is working on emerging viruses in South America," Ruth added.

"Anything else on Kessel?" Harry's swept the table, briefly stopping on Ruth and then moving on.

"When I got to Kessel's office it had already been searched," said Beth. "The same with his apartment."

"Do we know who?" Harry looked at Beth.

"The receptionist told me men from the government. I assume it was the same people that rifled through his flat."

"See if you can come up with any leads as to who these 'government' people might be," Harry directed Beth.

"Our working hypothesis is Amaani was acting as a courier between Kessel and Otero." Lucas rounded out the line of inquiry.

"Which also leads us to the question– how did Kessel come to possess smallpox in the first place?" asked Harry.

"That's just it. We don't know where we are in the chain. Where it starts and if Morningstar is the end," said Lucas.

"Have we dug into Kessel finances?"

"Yes." Beth moved a spreadsheet in front of her."No debts or liens but a large sum of money was wired to an account in his name in Liechtenstein."

"We're also checking Otero's finances," added Ruth.

"I think we're going to need to mount an operation inside this conference." Lucas sat forward and spoke directly to Harry.

"Agreed." Harry clasped his hands. "Ideas?"

"We go in as convention support staff." Lucas gestured to Ruth. "And Ruth has a doctor."

"What do you mean Ruth has a doctor?" Harry cast his full attention on her.

"Technically, he was Ros' asset," she hurriedly explained.

Harry turned back to Lucas. "Ruth doesn't run agents, she has contacts"

"This isn't a true agent." Ruth clicked on the remote, revealing a new photo. "Paul Lamott. Former researcher. Tried and convicted for conducting unsanctioned drug trials on human subjects, now released on licence."

"So we want to bring a man of dubious moral fibre into an investigation on a possible bioterrorism?" Harry arched an eyebrow at her.

"He has the necessary medical background and can we embed him in the conference. A clean skin as it were." Ruth gestured with the remote.

Harry sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, mulling over the information the team had presented. "Can we move this entire operation off the Grid?"

"I don't know if that necessary," said Lucas.

Knowing the reason for Harry's suggesting, Ruth piped in. "Considering the size of the conference, I think it would be wise to have a control room on site."

"On site it is," Lucas conceded.

"Good." Harry sat up as he concluded the proceedings. "We need to find this Morningstar and more importantly the location of the virus."

The team stood and headed out of the briefing room. Preoccupied with the task of meeting up with Lamott, Ruth scanned her notes on him as she walked down the corridor. An arm pressed against her shoulder and she realised it was Harry was deliberately walking into her to slow her down. She stopped, letting the rest of the team filter past. She leaned against the wall, indicating that she was ready to listen.

"I need to run an eye over everything you've gathered on Lamott."

"Alright."

"I'm going to handle him." Without given her a chance to speak, he turned with the intent of walking away.

"What?" Her hand shot out and she grabbed him by the forearm. "What do you mean you're going to handle him?"

He looked down to the spot where her hand lay on his jacket and then back up at her. "You have no experience running agents."

"I think I'm very well equipped to handle him," she countered indignantly.

"Shall I enumerated the many occasions fieldwork has gone sideways for you?"

Her mouth opened and then closed in muted response. When Lucas had approached her, she had downplayed her value but with Harry, she was unwilling to concede defeat. She rifled through her memory for facts to dispute his assertion. "Curtis."

"What?" He gave her a look of confusion.

"Professor Curtis," she reiterated more confidently. "Shining Dawn. I saved him from two attempts on his life and extracted where he met Monroe."

"That was one occasion." He shook his head dismissively.

"If you're are going to judge me by past events you should take them all into consideration," she replied through gritted teeth.

He drew in a long, slow breath. She tilted her chin in defiance. He expelled a huff of resignation. "We'll talk about this later."

She bristled under his restraint. "It's Lucas' operation."

"He is not aware of your history in the field."

"History does not have to be repeated," she threw his words back at him.

The air between them shifted, the combativeness draining from his face. "No it doesn't," he conceded softly.

The tart retort evaporated from her lips, and before she could look away he caught her eyes with a gaze that penetrated straight to her core. There was a flicker deep within his pupils, and before she could discern it he shut her out. He walked away leaving her to stand alone in the corridor. She leant back, her head softly banging against the wall as she let out a sigh of frustration. Impossible man. She looked up at the tiles on the ceiling replaying his words. What history was he talking about? Her professional history or the history between them. As much as she wanted to they could never go back. She could never be that woman again, young and spirited and not naive. She stood up straight, struck by a thought. He didn't believe in her. Doubt, like a stone, dropped into her stomach. Was she still his crack analyst? Did she still possess the grit and temerity to forge on no matter what the consequences? The voice that had niggled at the back of her mind since her return grew louder. Was she still really a spy? She thought she was, even in Cyprus it lay just beneath her skin but when it came to the ultimate test she had folded. She had not given everything up for Queen and country. It always came back to that room with Mani. Guilt, regret, doubt. She had caved to Mani's demands with spectacular ease. It had taken so little for him to strip her of every vestige of her spy armour and expose her vulnerability. If she had played the long game as Harry had would George still be alive? She had blamed everything on Harry but did he blame her. He had seen her buckle so easily under pressure did he assume she would do it again? Perhaps Lucas was right that she needed to run things past Harry; not for his permission but to prove to him that she was still a spook. To prove it to herself. There was only one way to do that.

Head down, shoulders back she walked out of the corridor with a renewed sense of purpose and found herself colliding with the wiry form of Tariq. Before she could apologise, he hurriedly thrust a file into her already overloaded arms.

"This could be what you were looking for," he murmured under his breath.

Without any further explanation, he walked past her and continued to his desk. Perplexed by the encounter, Ruth slowly moved back to her station. She sat down with the file thinking that it might contain pertinent information regarding Lamott or Otero. Before she could investigate the contents, her phone rang. Picking it up she absently uttered a few words of greeting, but as the conversation progressed her focus narrowed to each specific word. The conversation ended but her fingers remained clutched around the receiver. The Grid moved around her in slow motion, as she processed the information. She let her fingers rest on the cradle of her phone, the action allowing her time to steady her breathing. It was a familiar feeling, the rush of endorphins running through her system, the thrill of finding out an unexpected piece of information. As her heartbeat slowed, she casually turned towards Harry's office, her eyes meeting Sandra's as the secretary looked up. Ruth kept the receiver to her ear maintaining the impression that she was still involved in a conversation. Her instinct was to run into Harry's office as she had done in the past letting the information pour forth in its usual excited stream. She could feel Sandra's eyes still on her. She slowly punched three numbers into the dial pad. After two rings a deep voice answered.

"Harry Pearce."

"It's me." She slowly turned to look at him through the glass of his office, their eyes locking momentarily. To his credit, Harry gave no sign that he was surprised by her call. She turned back towards her phone. "You were right. There is more going on."

For a moment there was only the sound of his breathing through the receiver. "Meet me in five."

A click sounded as he ended the call leaving Ruth to wait for what she thought was the appropriate amount of time before she replaced her own receiver. She kept her head down as he left his office, noting that he stopped briefly to chat with Sandra. He strode past Ruth's desk without acknowledging her, pulling on his overcoat as he walked through the pod doors. He did not say where to meet him; she could only assume one location.

The wind whipped at her as she opened the steel door to the rooftop, a stray gust almost wrenching it from her hand. She drew her coat tighter around her body as she stood for a moment regarding Harry. His elbow rested on the railing as he looked out over the city, and she followed the direction of his gaze. The weak winter sun glittered off office tower windows, its rays far too short to provide any warmth. She drew alongside him, her chest still heaving from her sprint up the stairs, the cold air crystallising in her lungs as she spoke.

"It's a chimeric virus."

"Meaning?" He turned his full attention on her.

"Another virus was infused with the smallpox. VEE "

"What's that?"

"Venezuelan Equine Encephalitis. Very contagious but it not necessarily deadly."

"What happens when it's paired with smallpox?"

"It can be transmitted like a common cold. The treatment for smallpox might be rendered useless." She met his eyes and she wondered if he had the same thought she did; if the vaccines they had received yesterday were now rendered useless. "The thing is," she continued, "We know what country experimented with this."

"Russia." Harry finished off her trail of logic.

"There was a scientist who defected in the eighties, he claimed to be working on this. No one believed him until now. He also warned of another hybrid virus."

"Do I want to know?"

"Ebola."

Harry closed his eyes. "How did you find this out?

"A sample was sent to Porton Down. I still have a contact there from the Paroxocybin operation." At her words, Harry drew his hand over his eyes and a piece of the puzzle clicked into place. "The other day when you said Shackleton's troubles were of his own design you were talking about yourself. You think this is payback for the Paroxocybin switch."

"I don't know and I suppose at this point it doesn't matter. We have no idea of the whereabouts of a modified virus. I don't even want to contemplate that there could be something even more horrific out there. What do we do? Quarantine the entire city." He pressed his fingers against his temple as if he could somehow massage the crisis away.

A blast of wind swept across the rooftop and Ruth blinked as a shiver ran through her. She stepped stood closer to Harry, his bulk, for the most part, shielding her from the bitter cold. His eyes remained closed and she studied his face, the harsh light revealing lines of worry. She fought the impulse to raise her hand and ease the tension away with her fingers. He looked tired. Was he sleeping at night? Was he eating well? She inhaled deeply catching herself. These were not the thoughts of an analyst. As they stood on the roof the earlier tension that had arisen between them in the corridor melted away. This was their true state. Two people with a shared experience that no one else could never know. She searched her mind for any words that might ease the strain of the situation.

"We can work through it, Harry. We have before."

The words were meant to comfort him, to provide the balm her fingers could not, but they swirled around with the wind, their meaning becoming ensnared in the tangled mess that was their lives. Could they ever work out the knots that lay between them? In a move to hide her thoughts, she drew the collar of her coat around her throat, and his eyes followed her hands. Her bare fingers flexed self-consciously on her lapel, and a shadow crossed his face. Graciously, he did not mention that she was not wearing the gloves, and she nervously licked her lips looking for the courage to say that she could not accept his gift. The silence between them ticked on, and she knew the moment had gone on too long, the subject becoming, like so many other topics between them, loaded with implication and subtext. She should leave, she had delivered her message there was no reason for her to stay but she couldn't move. She did not want to leave this man but she could not be with him. Did it have to be marriage or nothing? Was there no place for them between the guilt and the regret and the secrets.

"How long can we keep this between us?" he asked her quietly.

Her brow furrowed and she was unsure if he was talking about the virus or their delicate situation.

"We work with spies; it's hard to keep things hidden."

"We have to keep the public in the dark about this virus."

Her question was answered; he was not talking about them but the secrets of the nation. Country first. Always.

"I think we have to bring Lucas in. I'll head back so it doesn't look like we're…." The last word of the sentence was carried away on the wind. Together.

There was no more she could say. She turned away and walked quickly back into the warmth of the building, leaving him to stand alone in the cold. As she stepped back onto the Grid, Tariq motioned for her to come over to his station.

"I've been monitoring that website, the one that exposes what the government doesn't want the public to know." He pointed to the screen at an article headed in large bold letters proclaiming a smallpox epidemic.

"How?" she looked at Tariq. "How did they get this information?"

She saw Harry entering through the pods and she signalled to him. He walked over and she motioned to the screen.

"I've had Tariq monitoring this website. They know about the virus."

"Does anyone actually read this?" Harry scanned the information on the screen.

"We can try to debunk it as a conspiracy theory, hope no reposts it, stop it from getting traction." Tariq offered. "But the question is how to they know?"

"See if you can find out where this site originates," Harry directed Tariq. His eyes shifted to Sandra's desk. Without drawing attention to his actions, he brushed his hand against Ruth's, his fingers moving up and closing about her wrist as he subtly tugged her closer, leaning down to her ear.

"Do you have anything?" he whispered.

"I've got a trace on-" She quickly stopped herself from saying Sandra's name and rifled through her mind to come up with an alternative. "On our songbird."

"Good."

Hidden by the screen of their bodies, his fingers lingered on her wrist, his thumb caressing the small bone that stood out from her skin. Drawn by instinct, she swayed into him, wanting the sensation to last, her resolve about the gloves wavering.

"Track down that doctor of yours and get him ready to go undercover." He released her wrist and walked over to Lucas.

Ruth smiled to herself, secretly please that her role had been sanctioned. She was handling an asset. She could do it. She would prove herself. She was still a spy.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N - Thank you for continuing to follow along with this story and a warm thank you to the lovely souls who have taken a moment to leave a review. Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter up; I was overwhelmed by the real world, but maybe that's when we need a little moment of escape. I promise that I will be kind to our spooks._

An air of neglect hung over the street as Ruth stood and waited. The pavement buckled beneath her feet, the tapping of her agitated toe dislodging a piece, causing it to crumble as she moved it. The remains of a bicycle hung beside her, the skeleton still chained to a lamp post. Metal, hard and unyielding dug into her shoulder as she leaned back against the security gate of an abandoned store. The discomfort kept her grounded in reality, tethering her imagination from veering off into the land of failed objectives. Ruth told herself she was merely assessing the surroundings, but she knew deep down she was waiting in vain for her stomach to cease its nervous dance. Her destination lay across the road; a brown box of a building, unassuming in design, built to serve the needs of its inhabitants, making no attempt to adhere to any sort of golden ratio of design. She exhaled, a cloud of breath forming in the morning cold. A loitering figure garnered more suspicion than a moving one. With a fortifying breath, she crossed the road and approached the building's entrance.

A jagged fissure ran through the glass door, the crack haphazardly mended with yellowing tape and she hesitated to touch it. A young man ignored her presence and stepped in front of her, opening up the door, giving her the opportunity to slip through with him. She headed down a white windowless corridor, fluorescent lights reflecting off the polished floor, the walls covered with posters advertising various courses for adult education. The smell of wet wool hung in the air, mixing with bleach and burnt coffee. At the end of the hall, she reached a green door, a man's voice droning faintly through the small rectangular window. The thought of having to wait rekindled the flutters in her stomach. The clap of textbook covers closing and the scrape of chairs told her the class had ended. The door opened releasing a small crowd of people and she waited until the last of the stragglers had vacated the room before she entered. At the front of the room stood a man, his long sweeping arms wiping mathematical calculations from the chalkboard. How strange that in this world rife with technology the chalkboard still prevailed. A brown cardigan hung lose on his lank frame, a hole visible in one elbow with each movement of his arm. His trousers bore the sheen of too much wear, the bottom cuffs frayed from walking. The click of her boot heels telegraphed her presence but the man continued to wipe the board.

"Sorry, the class is over."

"I'm not here for the class, Mr Lamott. Beverly sent me." The name felt strange on her lips. She was, of course, referring to Ros.

The brush stopped in mid-motion. "I already gave her my last update. If you need something you should check with her." The brush started up with a concentrated force.

"She's no longer with the company."

The piece of information arrested his movement and he turned around, his eyes hard as he reevaluated her presence in the classroom. She looked back at him undaunted. She knew everything about him; age, height, internet history. He was in his late forties, a good head taller than she, and often browsed The Lancet. He appeared older than his file picture, dark hair in need of a trim, slightly greying at them temples, high cheekbones on a face that once carried more flesh. He moved to the desk and tidied up a pile of papers.

"The deal was I work for her." He shrugged his shoulders. "So if that's everything, you'll have to excuse me."

He stuffed the papers in a well-worn satchel and moved to walk past Ruth. She stopped him with her voice.

"You're working in a lab environment which I believe violates the terms of your probation."

Lamott stopped beside her shoulder. "This isn't a lab." He looked around the room. "There's nothing here except a hotplate and a few glass bottles."

"I think a judge would consider that a violation." She looked him in the eye, her words sounding harsh to her ears, but she knew Ros would have been far tougher.

"Listen, I've kept my nose clean. I did my time, I've done everything that's been asked of me. I'm teaching adults who couldn't get their certificates and have fallen through the cracks. I'm paying my debt."

"We need you to do one more thing."

He bent towards her, his voice a harsh whisper. "That's how you get us, isn't it? Alway one more thing. I've given you information on the people who come through here. They're just trying to get on with their lives like I am."

"You're wasted here, you know that." She stood her ground, her voice remaining cool. "We're offering you something far more suited to your intellect."

"And if I say no?"

"I really don't want to go into the consequences of that decision." And she didn't. She knew firsthand how the service could worm its way into a person's life and turn it inside out. He looked over her shoulder as if the door offered him an escape. There was nowhere to run, they would always find him.

"Alright, what do I have to do?" He leant back against a desk, resigned to his fate.

She handed him a business card. "Come to this address tomorrow at the time indicated."

He looked at the card and then back up at Ruth. He was analysing her, cataloguing her attributes, sorting her into a classification. She knew the look, she had used it many times herself.

"Will I be working with you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"What am I supposed to call you?"

"Evelyn."

"I know that's not your real name. Although, you certainly look more like an Evelyn than the other one looked like a Beverly." He flicked the corner of the business card thoughtfully with his thumb. "When this is done, will you leave me alone?"

"I can't make any promises."

"Do I get any compensation?" His lips tugged in a half smile, a hint of melancholy to his voice. "A clean slate? My old life?"

It was her turn to assess him. He had conducted unsanctioned trials on human subjects and her imagination had concocted some grotesque monster of a man but he was merely human. Even so, experience had taught her that malice lay beneath even the most ordinary of demeanours.

"I would have to talk to people," she responded evasively."

"I know what you're thinking. No one died from my trials. The government was dragging its feet. People needed those drugs."

"I'm not here to judge you."

"People think research is cold and clinical. It's not. It's unravelling the mysteries of the universe. A glimpse into the mind of God." He flipped open the latch on his satchel and slipped the card into a pocket. He closed the case and absently rubbed his finger over the lock. "Do you know what it's like to have your life taken away because of one mistake?"

The question sliced through her. Of course, she knew, lived with it every day. She needed to be careful around this man, it was better not to engage in any further conversation, lest she reveal anything personal and by doing so lose the upper hand. Her only answer was an arctic blue stare, cultivated from years of watching Harry. She walked away, leaving Lamott holding the question.

Frosty air nipped at her cheeks as she the exited the building, her steps hurried as she headed towards her rendezvous with Lucas. As confident as she was in her abilities she was not so arrogant as to think she didn't need a few words of coaching. Fielding a contact for information was one thing but handling an asset was something altogether different. She would ask him for advice when she reported back to him.

The tiny park opened before her. Once a patch of green, it was now a pocket of brown lying dormant under the blanket of winter. Surrounded on all sides by office towers, it lay hidden like a secret in their shadows. There was no snow but Ruth skirted around a frozen puddle, the water stubbornly refusing to melt, sheltered from the sun by a wall. Scanning the grounds, she saw no sign of Lucas. It was always good to be early, that was how one got the worm. The park was deserted, a fact which suited her current state of mind. She sat down on the bench, her hands deep inside her pockets and settled in to wait. Crossing her legs, she noticed a scuff on the toe of her boot. It brought to mind the cracking leather of Lamott's satchel, how his clothes had hung on his frame, like remnants of a past life. A contrast to Harry and his finely pressed suits, his carefully polished shoes. Where did he keep the remnants of his past life? A shadow fell across the bench and she looked up expecting to see Lucas. Harry stood before her holding a cup of takeaway coffee in each hand.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, unable to hide the undercurrent of annoyance in her voice, concluding that he had come to monitor her progress.

"Lucas and Tariq are going over the hotel schematics." He sat down beside her, the wooden slats of the bench creaking under their combined weight.

"We have to stop meeting like this, people will talk," she commented dryly. It was meant to be a harmless quip, an attempt at humour to ease the cut of her rather undiplomatic greeting.

"Would that be such a bad thing?" He held out the coffee to for her to take.

She did not immediately reach for the cup but kept her hands in her pockets, finding herself in an unforeseen predicament. If she accepted the coffee, she would be revealing something that she wasn't quite sure she was ready to admit. Or more to the point, she wasn't exactly sure what she would be admitting. At any rate, she couldn't leave him, hand suspended, waiting for her. Slowly, she extracted her hand from her pocket and wrapped her gloved fingers around the cup. Harry did not relinquish his hold but let his eyes rest on her leather-clad hand. He looked up, their eyes coming together for the briefest of seconds. She looked away not wanting to add any more weight to the undefined moment. There was no mention of the gloves and she did not thank him. What he might read into the acceptance of his gift she had no idea, but she knew that by doing so she had shifted the boundaries of their relationship. He released the cup to her and turned his attention to his coffee, the plastic lid snapping as he pried the tab off.

"Was your meeting a success?" He looked out onto the small park as he took a sip.

"I think so." She concentrated on not spilling her coffee, drawing back into herself, thankful that he had not pursued the personal vein of their conversation, the idea of any sort of intimate exchange evaporating like the clouds of their breath.

"Either it was or it wasn't."

She chafed at his question. "Yes, he's meeting with us tomorrow."

"And what did you say to entice him?"

The word entice had an uncomfortable connotation. "I pointed out that he was violating the conditions of his parole."

"He'll see you as weak. Use that to your advantage."

"What do you mean he'll see me as weak?"

"There was a reason Ros was so hard. This job demands twice as much from a woman. You're softer. He'll think that he's in control, that he can get more from you."

Ruth silently seethed at his assessment knowing that he was undoubtedly correct. "I think he believes he can bargain his way back into a research position."

Harry gave a huff of derision. "Not in this country."

"He doesn't need to know that, does he?"

He gave her a sideways glance of approval. A small tilt of triumphant formed on her lips and she hid it by sipping her coffee. She wasn't an innocent in this game, she knew how it was played; she had seen the machinations of a number of Section Chiefs.

"Indeed," Harry agreed. "You can always dangle that carrot in front of him if you think it would make him more pliant."

Briefly closing her eyes, she wondered what exactly he wanted her to use as an inducement; the offer of a research position or herself. In that instant, it occurred to her that he may not only be talking about Lamott. Perhaps he thought that she was pliant, easily malleable. Which she wasn't. She had stood up to him in the past and would do so in the future. But here he was instead of Lucas, mentoring her, taking her in his hands and moulding her into the type of agent he needed. She looked down at his gloved fingers, firmly wrapped around his coffee. Would she be pliant under him? Under his fingers, his body, his lips. She caught her breath, stunned at how quickly her thoughts had crossed over the razor thin line between business and personal. She took a hurried gulp of her coffee, the liquid burning the roof of her mouth, erasing the images from her mind and bringing her back to the conversation. Harry shifted in his seat and she wondered if his thoughts had run up against the same boundary.

A bird landed at their feet and pecked at the unyielding ground, looking for food.

"Any news on Songbird?" Harry asked.

Ruth suppressed a smile, secretly pleased that Harry was using the name she had coined for Sandra. "Tariq gave me a file. I'm still working on it."

The bird raised its head, tilting it from side to side, looking to them for food.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything to feed you," Ruth apologised aloud to the bird.

"Isn't it better that it not depend on us for food?" Harry cautioned.

He would say that, mused Ruth; he was of the 'teach a man how to fish' philosophy. As if understanding Harry's words, the bird spread its tiny wings and flew off.

"I suppose we should head back." He tapped his fingers on the side of his cup. "Separately, of course."

"Of course," Ruth agreed, although the allure of separate lives was quickly losing its appeal; occasions where they had been alone outside the Grid, were few and far between. There was a level of comfort sitting alongside him on the bench, his presence bringing a moment of stillness to their ever changing world. If only they were back at that little café, drinking coffee, shoulders a little bit too close, heads bent together. His hand lay on his lap and she wanted to reach out and touch it, give it a gentle squeeze, nothing more than a sign of friendship. She took a drink of her coffee instead.

"Perhaps I'll just finish my coffee." Harry raised his cup to his lips.

Ruth smiled down at her own cup, strangely happy that he would spend an extra moment with her. The bird returned this time with a mate and they commenced to peck at the ground. Funny how they returned to a spot that had once yielded nothing, thinking the ground might yield something the second time around. Rather like humans, Ruth thought, always the eternal hope that circumstances would change.

"Although," Harry's voice broke the silence. "Returning in the car alone would be a waste of resources. The conscientious thing to do would be for me to offer you a lift."

"That would be nice."

"Just doing my part for the environment."

He stood up, his hand unconsciously reaching out to help her up. Before she could accept it, he quickly withdrew it. She couldn't fault him for the chivalrous impulse but the gesture held within it a certain intimacy that was still too early for them to contemplate. She bit her lip wanting to have done with the complicated dance they had sentenced themselves to or more fairly that she had enforced. She pushed herself up from the bench and stood beside him, waiting as he crumpled up his cardboard cup and deposited in the bin. She left hers intact and reached across him to throw it away, careful not to let her arm touch his chest. She paused for a moment, her cheek near his shoulder, an almost tangible sense of heat radiating from his body. Hovering for a moment, close but not close enough. She let the cup fall from her fingers into the bin. She stepped ahead of him and they left the park, leaving the two birds to forage for their food.

...

The day had started with nervous anticipation and it seemed it was to end in the same state. Ruth stared down at the papers on her desk, giving the impression that she was engrossed in their findings. In her peripheral vision, she saw Sandra tidying her desk, pausing to log off from her terminal. Toes tapping impatiently, Ruth discreetly moved her lips in a silent chant to hurry the woman along. How long did it take a person to clean up and go home? After an eternity, Sandra crossed to the door of Harry's office but instead of bidding him a brief goodnight, she stood leaning against the door jamb. Whatever the woman said it elicited a low laugh from Harry, and Ruth's fingers tightened around her pen. Logically, she knew that Sandra was not usurping her position, but the casual familiarity of the woman's stance was too much to bear. That spot belonged to Ruth, her shoulder graced that particular part of the door. She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly in an effort to calm herself down. Finally, she could sense Sandra walking across the Grid. She raised her head as the woman passed her desk.

"'Night Sandra," Ruth said with a smile, her voice like butter.

"Goodnight Ruth," the woman responded with a little wave.

The smile faded from Ruth's lips as she watched Sandra exit through the pods. The woman had no idea who she was up against. Pulling out the file folder that Tariq had given her, she kept movements slow and contained, wanting to be certain that Sandra had indeed left the building. Satisfied that she had, Ruth headed towards Harry's office. Without out any greeting, she crossed the threshold and pulled up a chair to his desk, taking her familiar position across from him. Harry held a pen in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other, an eyebrow cocked at the efficiency of her entrance.

"This must be important." He set down the pen but not the scotch.

She opened up the file and extracted a document. "Songbird." She turned a sheet around and set it in front of him. "We've pulled some of her email correspondence." With the tip of her pen, she pointed out specific phrases. "Whereabouts of package unknown. Thread is viral. VP."

"I take it VP does not refer to Vice President?" Harry asked archly.

"Veepox," Ruth confirmed.

He carefully placed his drink on the desk and took up the papers. "And Sandra sent these?"

"That's not all." Ruth pulled out another paper. "Call log from her mobile." She sat back in her chair letting her news hit Harry.

"How did you get this?"

"Tariq had a trace on her."

He opened his mouth as if to reprimand her but she opened her eyes wide in innocent rebuttal. He returned his focus to the paper.

"Let me guess, these calls are to a burner phone."

"Yes, but we do know the location. Hungary." Ruth pulled out another piece of paper. "Her last posting was at our station in Budapest."

"That's on the doorstep of our Russian friends." Harry held out his hand for the remaining contents of the file.

"That doesn't mean she's working for the Russians." She passed the folder over to him. "Proximity to the crime doesn't necessarily mean guilt."

"Yes, well, stronger men than her have been turned," he replied as he glanced through the papers.

"We need to find out what Six knows," Ruth urged.

Closing the file, Harry tapped his fingers on the cover, his brow creased as he assessed the situation. "There's too many holes in this net to go on a fishing expedition. There's nothing here connecting her to the Russians or the virus except our suspicions. If I go to Six I'll need something they can't back away from."

Ruth sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, annoyed that her information had not merited a more rapid response. "What do you suggest we do then?

"Go after her.

"How?"

"You've built up a rapport with her, you should be the one to break her."

Ruth inhaled sharply at the image his words painted. Had he used that phrase with Tom when she was suspected of being a mole? His eyes ran over her face, reading her expression before she could hide it.

"You've been in her shoes," he pointed out with quiet frankness.

"Yes," she agreed softly, "But I've never broken anyone."

At her words, the muscles in Harry's neck tightened and the lapels of his jacket moved as he inhaled deeply. His eyes dropped from hers, the briefest hint of distress crossing over his face. Anyone else would have missed it, but she knew him as well as he knew her. Her fingers twined together in her lap, her shoulders sinking under the thought that she may have broken him; when she had left, when she had returned and when she had refused his proposal. She raised her eyes to find him taking a drink of his scotch.

"She's admin." He looked at his drink reflectively. "It might not take much to crack her."

"You think a desk spook can't hold out?" she asked, smarting at his allusion.

"That's not what I mean. I'm saying they aren't usually trained in counter-interrogation."

Ruth tilted her head, conceding Harry's point. She cleared her throat, swallowing her her impulse to end the conversation and go after Sandra without formulating a plan. "What should I do?"

"Get her alone," he instructed. "A location where she will be off balance."

Ruth nodded, finding solace in the fact that Tom had spoken to her in a public place.

"Find a personal angle. Something," his voice lowered, "Or someone they care about."

Their eyes met, and held, and remembered. He was not alluding to Tom talking to her on a bench. He was referring to Mani and the psychological grist mill he had put them through. A thought resurfaced, one which she had tried to suppress many times. How long would Harry have held out if she had been threatened? With a supreme effort, she pushed the thought away. God, how their souls had been hollowed out by all that they had shared and survived. She felt an overwhelming urge to talk to him about that day, that perhaps they could both heal by dissecting, cataloguing, assigning a place to what had transpired. She gave an imperceptible sigh. Was there ever a time when she had not loved this man? But she knew love was not enough, there would always be the termites of doubt, events of the past eating away at the future. So she said nothing. Harry remained silent with her, as they sat with their thoughts. The world moved on, they couldn't stand still.

"Can you do it?"

He held the folder out to her, his head tilted in a wordless challenge. He would not hold her hand or coddle her. The gloves may have been a sign of his affection but they were also a means of protection. He had given her the tools, he wanted her to succeed on her own. There might come a day when she would need to save herself.

"Yes, I can do it," she stated simply, her fingers grasping the proffered folder.

Rising from her chair, she turned quickly away, not meeting his eyes. If she stayed, she could see herself easily crossing into that no man's land of shared memory, of open wounds that would drag them both down. The muscle in her shoulder tensed as she felt his eyes follow her. She didn't have the fortitude to sit with him, to maintain that professional barrier that allowed them to carry on without drowning in the personal. She needed to focus all her energy on the next day's mission. In the past, she had been shattered by others, now it seemed her fate to break those around her.


	7. Chapter 7

The air in the room was frigid, the intermittent clanging of an ancient radiator doing nothing to alleviate the cold. A hazy shaft of light filtered through a lone window placed high up on a wall, the rest of the room was illuminated by a rusty metal fixture dangling precariously from the ceiling. Lucas had arranged the location, the basement of an old abandoned factory, saying that it afforded them the security that they needed, although Ruth thought it more fitting for an interrogation site than a briefing. The Section Chief sat beside her; unsmiling, his arms crossed looking suitably imposing. The weight of his presence bolstered her confidence, and she was thankful for it. Lamott sat across from them, wrapped in a grey overcoat that showed the same lack of care as his clothes from the previous day. His leg jiggled under the table, whether from nerves or the cold Ruth could not tell.

"Who's this?" Lamott asked, pointing a finger at Lucas.

"A colleague," Ruth answered flatly.

"So he's the brawn and you're the brains?" Lamott looked pleased with his observation "You're certainly the beauty of this operation." He bestowed a crooked grin on Ruth and shrugged his shoulders subversively.

Ruth closed her eyes. Her first instinct was to shut him down with a withering glance but she stopped herself. Let him think you're weak. She opened her eyes and tilted the corners of her mouth in the barest hint of a smile, just enough to give him the impression that she was not immune to his attempt at flattery. No one had ever accused her of being a flirt and she wondered how long she could hold up the pretense. She pulled a raft of papers from a folder.

"You need to sign this." Placing a pen on top of the documents, she moved the pile toward Lamott.

"What is it?"

"The Official Secrets Act."

"I signed this already." He pushed the papers back to Ruth.

"Just covering our bases," Lucas answered tersely, returning the papers to Lamott with brokered firmness.

"Covering your arse is more like it," Lamott mumbled under his breath as he begrudgingly took up the pen and scratched his name on the bottom of the papers. Ruth retrieved the documents and slipped them back into the folder. Lucas leaned forward with his elbows on the table, forgoing the niceties of small talk and plunging right into the proceedings.

"There's a conference on infectious diseases starting tomorrow."

"We need you to befriend this man." Ruth opened the folder on the table and placed a photograph in front of Lamott, pointing to it as she said the name. "Vincent Otero." Lamott picked up the picture and scrutinised it. "Do you know him?" She asked on the off chance that they may have moved in the same research circles. If so they would have to adjust his story accordingly. He shook his head.

"Why do I need to get all chummy with him?"

"We have to know if he had dealings with this man." She extracted another photo. "Edward Kessel."

"He doesn't look too threatening," Lamott observed.

"He's dead," said Lucas.

The confirmation of Kessel's status dropped like a lead weight on the table.

"We believe that Kessel was in possession of an illegal substance," Ruth carried on from Lucas, not wanting to scare Lamott away. "He was handing it off to Otero who we think is using the codename Morningstar."

"What substance?" Lamott asked.

Ruth looked at Lucas. Of course, he would be curious, it was in his nature, but once they entrusted Lamott with the information there would be no return. The Official Secrets Act was not always a deterrent. Lucas gave Ruth subtle nod. She turned back to Lamott and cleared her throat before she spoke.

"It's a chimeric virus. A combination of Smallpox and the Venezuelan Equine Encephalitis."

"Veepox?" Lamott looked at her incredulously. "That's impossible. It doesn't exist. It's a story made up some Cold War Soviet scientist who defected years ago."

"Tell that to the technicians at Porton Down," Lucas countered.

"You're serious." Lamott's look of disbelief changed to one of reverence. His leg stopped shaking and he became very still. He leaned forward, his voice an intense whisper. "Can I see it?"

"No," Lucas answered firmly.

"If it's true…if it does exist," his voice rose with the excitement of the discovery, "Then there's the possibility that other combinations exist. There were rumours that they could do it with Ebola. Did they?"

Ruth cast a sideways look at Lucas as he sat back in his chair. He gave her an imperceptible shake of his head. Earlier, they had set down the parameters of what they could safely discuss with Lamott. Obviously, any discussion of a hybrid Ebola virus was out of bounds.

"All we need from you," Ruth steered the conversation back to the original subject, "Is a report on what this man is doing at the conference."

"So I get to attend this conference?"

"Yes. You'll be attending under your own name. You are now working for a private company." Ruth pulled out another folder. "This file contains details about your new life. I'll lead you through it now and we'll go over it again tomorrow." She took out a plastic card and handed it over to him.

"What's this? The company credit card?"

"You'll need a better set of clothes. And a proper briefcase."

He took the card and studied it, the plastic edge clicking on the table as he rotated it through his fingers.

"And after all this is over- is there a chance I might possibly work for this private company?"

"If you can get us the information." She did not mention that the company was nothing more than a dummy corporation set up by Tariq. It was a carrot, and she was dangling it.

"And how will I get you this information?"

"I'll be at the conference working as a translator. I'll be staying with you at the hotel."

"With me? Will we be sharing a room?"

His eyes ran over her form and she resisted the urge to draw her coat tighter around her body. She did not smile this time, there were boundaries to her flirtation.

"We will all be with you," Lucas interjected gruffly. "You don't need to concern yourself with the details.

"But you'll report only to me," said Ruth.

"That's good. You know what they say – more flies with honey."

Ruth clenched her teeth and focused on the folder in her hand. "Registration for the delegates starts at 11 am. Here are the sessions you have signed up for." She handed him a pamphlet. "And you'll be fitted with a tracking device so we know your whereabouts."

"Good to know that free will is alive and well." Lamott took the pamphlet.

"Mr. Lamott-"

"Call me Paul."

"Paul." She softened her voice. "These measures are put in place for your protection. There may be some risk involved." She reached across the table and placed her hand over his. "I don't want to see anything happen to you." She underlined the sentiment of the last sentence with a smile.

He looked down at her hand, the flippancy fading from his demeanour, the hard lines of cynicism easing from his face. Perhaps like her, he had not felt the comfort of a human touch in a very long time. Strange how she could reach out to this man and comfort him but could not for the life of her, reach out and touch Harry. She made to withdraw her fingers but his grip tightened on her hand.

"I don't think you really care what happens to me, Evelyn, but it was nice of you to say."

He looked into her eyes, and she studied his gaze dispassionately. His eyes were darker than Harry's almost black and for a second she was struck by the similarity to George's. For months after George's death, she would see him at every turn, on the tube, walking in the midst of a crowd, but she had thought she had put that particular demon to rest. She needed to be careful about assigning any sort of familiarity to this man. He was nothing like George. She quickly withdrew her hand.

"How long is this going to take?" Lamott asked.

" A few hours," Ruth replied.

"Then I think I had better use the facilities before we begin." He looked at Lucas for directions.

"Through that door." Lucas motioned to the other side of the room.

After Lamott rose from his seat and left the room, Lucas turned to Ruth. "Looks like you've struck a chord."

"I didn't mean for it to get personal." She flipped through the papers in Lamott's dossier.

"That's good. If he thinks you care he'll listen to you. All you have to do is flirt a little." Lucas rose from his seat. "I'll just make sure everything is alright with our new friend."

Ruth's hands stilled on the papers as Lucas' retreating footsteps echoed across the floor. It should come as no surprise that Lucas' advice would follow along the same vein as Harry's - that a woman's strongest weapon would be emotional manipulation. She didn't even want to contemplate the number of people those two men had manipulated in their careers. She could handle Lamott. She could flirt if the need be. The problem was she wasn't sure if she remembered how.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with Lamott, and Ruth found herself begrudgingly admiring his sharp mind. He was a quick study, remembering the array of details the two agents fed him. At the end of the day, confident that he could carry out his part of the plan, they dismissed him, sending him off to get a good night's rest.

It was with that sense of accomplishment that Ruth found herself standing at the end of a corridor in Thames House. The length of the hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before her and she stilled her mind, focusing on the task ahead. Her heart was suspended in her chest, not from fear but from something more akin to the state of a runner waiting for the starting pistol to fire. Like any athlete, she knew the race was one from mental preparation. Desk spooks were easy to break. She closed her eyes and counted down from three, pushing off from her spot before she had time talk herself out of it. The hem of her black coat flapped open from the force of her stride. She sailed past a cleaning cart and without missing a step, lifted a folding yellow sign from off its hook, red words of caution emblazoned across the plastic. With a graceful dip, she deposited it in front of a door and entered the tiled sanctuary of the restroom. Pausing for a moment, she assessed her surroundings. No one else was readily visible. She glimpsed a pair of shiny black pumps visible under one of the doors. She smiled to herself. Polished shoes would not be enough. With a cautious hand, she swung open the doors of the adjacent stalls making sure that there were no other occupants. Concluding that she was alone, she leaned back against the porcelain sink and closed her eyes. Thoughts swirled in her mind; a cold day on a park bench, sitting under the intense scrutiny of Tom Quinn. Oh, how she had thought her life was over in that moment with him, routed from her role as an informant. He had been unflinchingly hard, giving her no quarter, only to add a reprieve at the end. She conjured up the staccato clip of his voice in her head. That was what she needed. A rush of water sounded and she opened her eyes as a stall door creaked. The occupant stopped short as she recognised Ruth, confusion on her face.

"Ruth!" Sandra's eyes widened with surprise. "I thought you were out for the day."

Ruth kept her face impassive as she remained leaning against the sink watching as Sandra ran the tap water over her hands. "You have to watch out for these facets," Ruth cautioned, "They leak."

Giving no sign of nervousness, Sandra moved to the dispenser and squeezed a dollop of industrial grade soap into her palm. Ruth stepped closer, encroaching on the woman's personal space and reached across to the tap, letting her gloved fingers rest on the handle.

"It's over, Sandra. We know." With a flick of her wrist, Ruth turned off the water.

There was an almost imperceptible twitch in Sandra's cheek before she recovered. "Know what?" she asked airily.

"That you've been passing on information."

"I've no idea what you're talking about." Sandra gave a dismissive laugh.

"I have the intercepts." There was no anger in Ruth's voice, only disappointment.

"I don't know what intercepts there would be," Sandra countered nonchalantly, a shrug of her shoulders.

"Emails, phone calls to Prague."

"That's ridiculous."

"You were stationed there, weren't you? It must be nice to be back home."

"Yes, it is." Sandra reached towards the tap.

"To be able to look after your mother."

The tap was left untouched and Sandra raised her eyes to the mirror.

"How is she?" Ruth turned to the mirror meeting Sandra's gaze. The woman blinked. A crack.

"She's recovering from a stroke." Sandra turned to face Ruth, the soap on her hands forgotten. "But I think you know that."

"I do hope she has a full recovery."

"You wouldn't dare," Sandra whispered.

"I wouldn't," Ruth assured her, "But Harry - that's another matter." She watched the fear that Sandra had tried to contain creep slowly across her face. "Surely, you must have heard the stories about him."

"Even if I was passing information, we're both on the same side."

Ruth digested the words. They shared information with other agencies but not with the FSB. The same side. A piece of the puzzle clicked into place. She kept her look blank, her voice even.

"You're channeling information back to the station in Prague."

"Yes, to Six. So it's all been sanctioned. So you see, the government can't spy on itself."

The familiarity of Sandra's statement rang in Ruth's ears, the same defense she had used with Tom. At that time, she had no idea how egos played off of one another, that internal subterfuge was a dangerous weapon. She grabbed Sandra's arm.

"Are you really that bloody naive?"

Ruth's voice echoed off the tiles, the force of her breath moving a hair by Sandra's ear. The woman tried to move back, but Ruth staunchly remained in her face. Another flash of fear crossed Sandra's eyes, the crack was spreading. One of the advantages of being mild-mannered was that when a blow was dealt it came down even harder. A shot of adrenaline coursed through her veins, not the heady euphoria of finding a salient piece of information, but an urge more compelling. This was about power. Saliva formed in the back of her mouth, her grip tightened on the woman's arm, she was in control, dominating the room. It fueled her words.

"Obviously the concept of loyalty means nothing to you. While you were sharing this information, someone was accessing it and leaking it to the public. People could die and it would be your fault."

"I only sent a few emails." Sandra waited for Ruth to agree with innocuousness of her deed but was met with silence. "It was part of the condition of my return." She appealed to Ruth. "I couldn't have done another tour, my mother is ill. I just wanted to come home."

Ruth let go of the woman's arm. She too had only wanted a transfer but she didn't let that commonality temper her interrogation.

"This is my house," Ruth told her quietly. "You have no one here to protect you."

"Please, don't tell him. They'll send me back."

"I won't. This can stay between you and me. I just need some information."

"Okay."

"Why is Six involved?"

"We got word there was a cache of smallpox vials. We were working with the BIS in Hungary but somehow we lost track of them. We suspected they were coming here and we knew Five would be on it but we were hoping to keep everything contained. Find the virus before word got out. No one would know."

Ruth nodded at her encouragingly. "Do you have any other information that would help us?"

"At this point I only know as much as you."

"Did Six have anything to do with, Kessel's death or Amaani's contamination?"

"No."

Ruth turned the tap back on; the sound of running water filled the room.

"If you tell anyone about this conversation, and trust me I will know if you do, you're on your own. And don't say anything about the operation we're planning. It might get out to the public. Agreed?"

"Yes, yes." Sandra put her hand on Ruth's arm. "You won't tell Harry?"

"Of course not." Ruth smiled back serenely.

She slipped her arm from out under Sandra's hand and walked through the door. Stopping for a moment, she picked up the yellow caution sign, and replaced it back on the waiting trolley, bestowing a smile on the night custodian. He watched her walk away, a confused look on his face. As she headed back to the Grid, her feet barely touched the ground, a wave of victory propelling her along.

After the coldness of the factory basement and the sterility of the ladies room, the warmth of Harry's office was especially welcoming. The lamp on his desk cast a burnished glow, the red of the walls muted in the subdued light. There was a contained heat in the room, the scent of a man having spent the day cloistered in his office. Ruth leaned back in her chair or as far back as she could, considering the uncomfortable design of the furniture. Lucas sat beside her, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he contemplated Ruth's news. Harry stood at the glass credenza tucked in the corner of his office, the clink of a decanter hitting his tumbler as he spoke.

"So you're telling me Six has dropped the ball and they want us to find it and hand it back to them without any questions."

"I don't know if that's what they want exactly." The muscle in her right shoulder was as hard as a rock and she subtly massaged it with her fingers.

"Well, what do they want if not for us to clean up their mess," Harry shot back at her as if she was the perpetrator and not just the messenger.

She closed her eyes, knowing that he was not angry at her but at the situation. The thought did nothing to alleviate the knot in her shoulder.

"You're going to have to confront them," Lucas advised Harry. "We can't go into the conference without proper Intel."

"The question is do we want to burn Sandra?" Harry asked.

Ruth's first instinct was to say yes but she knew the value of a turned informant.

"I said we would look after her. There's always the website that has been publishing information leaked by government sources. You could go to Six and say you got everything from that. Sandra doesn't even have to come into play."

"If that's all we have let's go with it." Harry sipped his scotch thoughtfully. "Can you get me some specifics from that website to back up these claims?"

"Yes."

"And do we know yet how this website got this information?"

"Tariq thinks it's all traced back to a hack on Sandra."

Harry took a final swig of his scotch a moved to refill his glass.

"Could I have one of those?" Ruth asked quietly. Harry stopped in mid-motion, the decanter poised in the air as if he hadn't quite heard her properly. "It's been a very long day." She looked at him, feeling that her tiredness must be showing in her eyes.

Harry turned over a glass on the tray and filled it. "Lucas?" He held up the decanter in question.

"No thanks. I've got Beth and Dimitri doing a final sweep of the hotel. I should brief them on this. Do we still need to keep this operation off the Grid?

"Yes. Let's move ahead as planned. We'll convene in the morning."

"I'll go down there now." Lucas stood and cast a look at Ruth. "Are you okay?" She nodded and he gave her a brief smile. "If you need anything let me know."

As he left, Lucas closed the door behind him, and the air of the room settled around them like a cocoon.

Harry walked over to Ruth and handed her the tumbler. She took it from him giving him a small smile of gratitude. Instead of returning to his chair, he sat down beside her taking up the seat that Lucas had recently vacated. The glass was reassuringly solid in her hand, the liquid bracingly potent as it burned down her throat. She took another large gulp on the heels of the first, the scotch flowing far smoother the second time.

"Easy now, that's Glenlivet," Harry pointed out. "It's meant to be savoured."

"Is it?" she asked innocently. "I've noticed that decanters around here don't stay full for long."

"Are you saying I drink too much?" Harry asked archly.

"I'll let you keep your own counsel on that subject."

"I know I drink too much. I have many long days." He spoke into his glass as he drank. "It takes the edge off regret and loneliness."

Ruth concentrated on her glass, turning if round in her hand and running her thumb along the valley at the bottom of the crystal. She didn't respond to Harry's comment, knowing full well that she was the person who could ease his loneliness. The kink in her shoulder was slowly dissolving; she could well understand the appeal of the drink. She took another sip, the warm liquid working its way through her limbs like a caress, leaving behind a moment of contentment. A small sigh escaped from her lips. Harry inhaled deeply and sat back in his chair, his arm moving to drape across the back of her seat. It was only a stretch on his part, an effort to relax, but she tensed at the movement, her shoulders rising slightly. It was not from the fact that he had placed his arm on her seat, but from the urge to fall back into him, to lean against him and feel the reassuring warmth of his body instead of escaping into a glass of alcohol. To feel his thumb move across the stubborn muscle of her shoulder, kneading away the tension.

"These conundrums are always so excruciating." He studied his glass as he spoke.

She licked her lips reflexively. "What particular conundrum would that be?"

"Having to call out Six. I have often found that when one hand isn't sharing information with the other it's usually because it's holding a knife that it would gladly stick your back."

"You still think it's personal?"

"Six created a mess and left it for us to clean up. Who do you think will get the blame if it all goes sideways? This section. Or more to the point - me."

"Surely not at the expense of the public."

"I've outlasted a great many of my friends. I don't have many allies left."

His hand fell to his lap, the glass resting against his thigh. Reach out, take his hand, assure him like you did with Lamott. She did not dare. The only thing she could do was look at him.

"You're not alone, Harry."

"Thank you," he said softly. Her eyes fell away from his, and he half turned in his chair, his voice a complicit whisper. "How many times has it been just us?"

Alone in his office, no one listening, they were a conspiracy unto themselves.

Unsure of what he was really asking, she lowered her eyes, drawn once more to the hand in his lap. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, the exact spot where his eyes touched her. A familiar taste returned to her mouth, the remnants of the day's adrenaline stirring in her system. It had come upon her, unbeckoned, prowling like a panther, looking to sate its hunger. It folded in on itself, hungry, not for of power, but with an appetite far more primal. The office was so very warm and she had been cold for such a long time. All she had to do was reach out and touch him. Attempting to quell the impulse, she focused on his leg. The fabric of his trousers was stretched across his thigh, the carefully ironed crease pulled taut over the muscle. Reach out, a voice told her, touch him. She could almost feel the material beneath her hand, her fingers running along the crease, tracing up from his knee along the length of him. Touch him. Her hand pressing on his thigh, bracing her weight as she leaned into him, fingers slipping down the crook of his leg. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She needed a drink. The glass was empty. She was empty. What was she thinking? They could never be any closer than they were now. She stood up quickly, her movement shattering the shell of intimacy that had surrounded them.

"Thank you for the drink." She handed him the tumbler.

His fingers covered hers as he took the glass, their subtle pressure holding her to the spot. He looked up at her from under heavy lids, silently asking her to stay. She withdrew her hand from the glass as if she was holding fire.

"I'll get that info from that website for you."

She moved to the door.

"Ruth –"

She paused for a second before sliding the panel open, talking to it instead of turning to him.

"You need to speak with Six."

She left the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Moving to her workstation, she sat down in her chair and mindlessly rearranged the objects on her desk, trying to process what had come over her. When she finally looked up from her desk, she found that he had not moved from his seat but remained where she had left him. Go back to him, you fool. She shook her head, it would never work. She needed to be careful. If she didn't watch her step in their fractured world of secrets, she might fall through a crack and straight into his arms.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N – A brief interlude that I couldn't work into the to the last chapter but I didn't want to leave it out entirely._ _Thank you once again for reading and reviewing._

 _._

The clatter of her keys as they dropped on the table echoed throughout the empty room, grating on her already heightened nerves. After enduring the rumbling of the tube and the sirens of the street, the silence of the flat hit Ruth like a wall.

"Hello," she called out expectantly into the room, knowing full well there would be no answer; Beth was already at the hotel.

Ironically, ever since she had acquired a roommate, she had longed for solitude, but tonight she didn't want to be alone. Being alone meant she would only have her thoughts for company, and she didn't want to think. She wasn't sure what had happened to her in Harry's office, but she knew if she were to analyse it her tightly wound control would unravel. As she laid her bag on the table, the contents of a file folder spilling out, a reminder of the job she could never leave behind. She peeled off her gloves, briefly relishing the feel of the leather against her skin, catching herself as she remembered the man who gave them to her and quickly pocketing them out of sight. Shrugging free of her coat, she draped it across a chair, and rocked back on her heels, looking around the room, searching for a distraction from the oppressive silence. A solution presented itself in the order of a half empty bottle of Merlot, waiting for her on the kitchen counter. She fetched down a glass and poured herself a large measure. It had been a few hours since her drink in Harry's office, surely one glass wouldn't hurt, although it might be wise to put something else in her stomach. A search of the cupboards yielded little in the way of food, her only find was a dented tin of tomato soup. She took it out and stared at the label, her mind carrying on of its own accord, finding its way back to Harry's office. Admittedly, in the past few weeks, she had entertained rather suggestive thoughts, a kiss, a caress, the occasional fluttering of her still beating heart, but in his office, it was her body that had yearned for more. The potency of her attraction to him had caught her completely off guard, a throwback to what she had felt for him in the past, feelings which she had carefully locked away. And they would stay that way. So, she concluded that what she had experienced in his office was merely a one-off incident, a culmination of the day's events, and not a permanent state of being. They would maintain the status quo as partners in work, only albeit with a deep bond of affection forged through their shared experiences, but there was a boundary, the one she had set. The idea of anything else would be sacrilege, disrespectful to the memory of George. The gods of espionage were fickle, giving and taking without impunity; they would never let her and Harry be happy, they were undeserving, their sins were too great. She shook her head; it was one thing to have these high-minded concepts, quite another to live them. She had not counted on her baser instincts coming forward. They weren't teenagers, after all, they were two mature people. But then again, as two mature people, why couldn't the fall into something a little more than work, a lot less than marriage? Perhaps that was all that was needed, act on her feelings, get it out of her system. No, no, no. That would never work. It would create more problems then it would solve. Once the operation was over she would ask for a few days off, take a break, sort out her mind. She stood staring blankly at the tin of soup, wondering why she had taken it from the cupboard. She needed to pull herself together. There were files in her bag waiting to be read, she needed to focus.

On her way back to the table, her foot connected with a large object. The wine sloshed in her glass as she stumbled and she righted herself by grabbing the counter. She stared down at the offending obstacle. A large blue suitcase lay at her feet. Having no luggage of her own, she had been reduced to borrowing a bag from Beth. Luggage was just one more item on the list of many that she needed to purchase. On both occasions when she had been forced to flee her life, it had been without baggage. She didn't want to deal with the thought of packing. It filled her with dread, even if she was only going to the hotel. It made her think about leaving, about the need for a plan. She sighed. In what other line of work did people constantly think about having an escape plan?

"I'll deal with you later," she spoke to the suitcase, unceremoniously shoving it out of the way with her foot. It was times like these when she missed Fidget. Somehow, it was more socially acceptable to talk to a cat rather than an inanimate object.

Sitting down at the table with her glass of wine, she pulled out the file and flipped through the papers, sifting through the details of her legend.

"Evelyn Turner," she read off a sheet, "I certainly hope your life is far more interesting than mine."

Words and dates floated before her eyes, none of them adhering with any consistency to her memory. From her bag, she extracted a pen and ran the tip beneath the words, hoping that it would serve to help her focus. A shiver ran through her, leftover dampness from the walk home and she wondered if she should turn on the heat. It had been so wonderfully warm in Harry's office. She shouldn't have run out so quickly, she should have stayed, joined him for one more drink. Her pen moved aimlessly on the paper as she stared into space, her concentration completely dissolved. She looked down to find the margins of the paper filled with squiggly lines. She threw down the pen in defeat and slammed the file shut, taking refuge in another sip of wine. Her eyes flitted over to the suitcase. It stood patiently waiting, it wasn't going anywhere without her. She ignored it and turned her attention to her phone. No messages. She thought there might be one from Harry. Silly woman, there was no reason for him to phone her. Her eyes were drawn to the suitcase again. She would have to deal with it at some point.

"Fine."

With an exaggerated sigh, she picked up her phone, balanced it in the same hand as her wine, and crossed over to the suitcase. The telescoping handle snapped as she slid it out, the wheels clicking as she rolled it behind her down the short hall.

After carefully placing her glass and phone on her bedside table, she hefted the suitcase onto the bed. The zipper snagged as she navigated it around a corner and she gingerly yanked it back on the track. Once the zip was undone, she flipped open the top of the case and stared into the empty hold. There had been a time when she could have filled it to overflowing with billowy tops and peasant skirts but now with her meagre wardrobe, she wouldn't need half the space. She had no idea what to pack. Looking to her closet for inspiration, she contemplated the blues and blacks of her wardrobe finally settling on two dark tops. As she pulled them out, a black dressed swung on its hanger, alone in a corner, dancing by itself. She stilled the dress, letting her fingers slid over the soft fabric. It was a simple design, a long sleeved affair and she couldn't remember where she had purchased it or for what occasion she would wear it. Wishful thinking. She pushed it away opting for a navy skirt instead. Next, she moved to her bureau, pulling out various pieces of intimate apparel, all in black. The colour was more for practical reasons; it blended in with her clothes. She couldn't image any occasion where her she would need something black and lacy. Well, she could image but the reality of that happening was highly unlikely. She folded everything neatly and packed it away. She sat down on her bed with a small huff wondering how packing so few items could be so exhausting. The glass of wine called to her and she took a sip, rolling the tannins around in her mouth. The thought of food crossed her mind once more and she reached for her phone, glancing at the time. It was too late to eat; she might have nightmares. Although, she knew the nightmares happened for other reasons.

She flipped the lid of the suitcase closed and glanced over her shoulder, the emptiness of the other side of the bed starkly highlighted. She smoothed a wrinkle out of the duvet. How long had it been since she...no she couldn't think about that. But her mind went there anyway. It was the night George's sisters had been over; they had all sat by the pool, drinking wine while the kids nodded off in the slowly setting sun. George had carried Nico to bed, and she had waited for him, the wine making her relaxed and content. A breeze blew through the window, the distant sound of the surf, soft kisses as they moved together. But even when she was at her most contented with George, there was always a corner of her mind that belonged to Harry, the idea of him never completely fading.

She looked down at the phone in her hand, sleek and silver, her fingers rubbing along the smooth casing. She could call him. No, that wouldn't be right. They had decided to stick to work. She could call him about work; see if he had met with Six. Ask him for some advice on how to deal with Lamott. She put the phone back on her nightstand and took a gulp of the wine. Not that she needed to drink. She only had the occasional glass, an outlet, to take the edge off her day. To numb the regret and loneliness. She sucked in her cheek; she was no different than Harry. She picked up the phone and quickly keyed in the number. One, ring two. It was late she shouldn't be doing this. She was on the verge of hanging up when the phone was answered.

"Yes." His voice was gruff.

"It's me."

No hello, no greeting, as if he would know by the sound of her voice who she was. That their relationship was at the level beyond cursory salutations. There was a pause on his end, and she began to doubt her soundness of her actions. Had she interrupted something? Was he irritated that she had called? It had been a bad idea. She should hang up, say that she had dialled the wrong number, but he broke the silence before she could do anything.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes. I just phoned to see if you had met with Six. In case I needed to," she squeezed her eyes shut, "revamp my story with Lamott."

"Ah, yes." There was another pause, punctuated by the sound of a swallow. "I tracked down Burnett to the club."

"Who's he?"

"Deputy Chief. Out of the Balkans."

"Really?" she asked, her interest instantly peaked.

"After plying him with a few drinks, I told him that I had found a mole in my section and asked if he had any advice on how to deal with it."

"And what did he say to that?"

"Nothing. It was one of those beautiful moments when they know that you know. He did have the grace to admit what was happening. Unfortunately, there was no new information forthcoming. They know less than we do."

"Oh," she couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"That's all I could get from him at the club. I'll go at them again tomorrow."

"Are you at the club now? Sorry-"

"No, I'm home."

With those words, the landscape of the conversation shifted, she could feel it moving away from work and into the personal. An image of him sitting in his living room bloomed in her mind. Or was he standing in the kitchen? Maybe like her, he was in the bedroom. She wanted to hang up, her words coming out a stammer.

"I didn't mean to bother you at home."

"It's no bother."

"I thought I should..." Her eyes rose to the ceiling looking for inspiration on how to gracefully extract herself from the conversation but all that she found was beginnings of a crack in the plaster.

"No it's good that you called," he assured her. "In all the furore over your news about Sandra we never had a chance to talk about Lamott. How did it go this afternoon?"

"It went surprisingly well." She rubbed her forehead, reaching back into her memory, the afternoon seeming like such a long time ago.

"Lucas thinks you have a certain rapport with him."

The intimation of his words, the pause before rapport, did not go unnoticed by her. "He's a very quick study."

"But you found an emotional connection, yes?" His voice lowered a register, resonating through the receiver.

"I don't think he has had much company in his life recently." She shifted the suitcase across the bed and leant back against the headboard.

"That always makes people susceptible to the smallest of gestures."

Had that been his intention with the gloves? A small gesture meant to send ripples through the still waters of her life. But surely he was not immune to her. It only took a small gesture on either one of their parts to send a tsunami of emotion through the other person's world. She absently played with the zipper on the suitcase.

"Yes, well, loneliness does leave certain openings in one's life."

"Spaces waiting to be filled."

"It's only natural to seek out another person." She stifled a small yawn and drew her legs up onto the bed, curling on top of the duvet.

"One can always stay busy. Make the emptiness less noticeable."

"True. Although, you can't always fill up an empty house with work. Or an empty-" She sat up. Bed, she had been about to say bed.

"Empty...what?" he asked, voice like velvet.

He knew. He knew exactly what she was going to say. Shit. This had been a very bad idea. He had been right to curb the notion of late night tete-a-tetes, obviously, he had known where they would lead. She should ring off before anything else happened, but she didn't want to. She clung to the idea that it was still possible save the conversation, turn it back towards neutral territory. She rifled through her mind, landing on work related question.

"Did you get that file from Tariq? Your legend?"

"Yes, I did."

She could sense a note of amusement in his voice, he was fully aware that she had dramatically changed the subject.

"Does it all make sense?" she asked, carrying blithely along.

"Let's see." There was the sound of shuffling papers underneath his voice. "Middle-aged, divorced, pharmaceutical salesman, looks pretty straight forward."

"It was the one angle we hadn't really looked into. The pharmaceutical industry."

"Very prudent."

"Do you have it down?"

"I believe so."

"If you need any help..."

"I have been doing this for a while."

"Of course,"

"Although, I'm not quite sure what to wear."

He wanted to keep her on the line, the notion filling her with a certain warmth. There could be no harm in that. The conversation had returned to a pleasant neutrality and she relaxed, curling back into her previous position on the bed, the phone cradled against her cheek.

"I would think any of your suits would do."

"Are you saying I regularly dress like a salesman?"

"No, I didn't mean that..." She left off when she heard a chuckle come through the line and she smiled at the sound of it, the rare humour of the moment filling her voice with a throaty quality. "You're playing with me, aren't you?"

There was a small intake of breath on his end and then silence. She ran the words over in her head, her eyes widening. What images had she ignited in his mind? It would take so little to tip them over the boundary. A word, a phrase, breaking down the barriers, crossing into forbidden territory. She gave out a shaky breath, secretly admitting that it was getting harder to bring the conversation back to neutral ground. She took a drink to collect herself and could hear him do the same.

"Are you drinking? she asked, purely for the sake of making conversation, grasping at the first question that came to mind.

"Does it matter?"

"No. I just -"

"Are you drinking?"

"I'm having a glass of wine," she admitted.

"You shouldn't drink alone."

Come over and have a drink with me. Come over and slid between the sheets with me. The seduction of voices in the darkness, emboldened by drink. Her fingers dug into the edge of the suitcase.

"I should say goodnight."

"Alright, then."

But she couldn't say it, the simple phrase weighed heavy in her mouth, the words imbued with a deeper meaning. She was lying on her bed talking to this man, together but not together, connected only by the ephemeral, the intimacy of the phone against her cheek, his voice tantalisingly near.. She closed her eyes, her voice a whisper.

"Goodnight, Harry."

His breath blew over the receiver.

"Sleep well, Ruth."

The phone went silent as he disconnected but the deepness of his voice continued to resonate in her ear. She bit her bottom lip. Fire. She was playing with fire. And like a moth, she was attracted to it against her own better judgment.

Placing her mobile on the table, she uncurled from her position on the bed. The wardrobe door stood ajar and she moved to close it. In the darkness, the dress still hung, waiting for her. Everything waited for her. The wine, the suitcase, the dress, her life. At some point, she would have to move forward. She slipped the dress off the hanger and turned back to the suitcase. Folding it carefully, she laid it on top of her other clothes, the bag looking somewhat fuller. It was purely for operational reasons, she told herself, it might come in handy. With one final pull, she drew the zipper closed and lifted the case from the bed. She filled the rest of her evening with the mundane tasks of her nightly routine, brushing her teeth, washing her face, double checking the lock on the door, turning off all the lights, and then returned to the bedroom. Quickly undressing, she scrambled beneath the cold sheets, moving her feet back and forth in order to create some heat. Turning on her side, she curled into a ball for warmth and stared at the empty spot on the other side of her bed. She would not sleep well.


	9. Chapter 9

The door of the hotel revolved with the same indifference to the plight of humanity as the planet that it inhabited. The paltry affairs of human heart made no matter; it would continue to rotate of its own accord. Ruth stood on the street watching the glass doors spin, methodically pulling people into its vortex, hypnotised by its steady pace. A sharp gust of wind stirred her hair; not spring yet, but soon. Everything moved forward. She closed her eyes, praying that her suitcase would not become entangled in the moving gears of the door. She entered the hotel, surprisingly, without incident. Standing for a moment, she observed the decor of blonde wood and the geometrically tiled floor; it was, she thought, all very elegant for a convention of scientists. She trundled over to the front desk and joined a line of delegates. The line inched forward and she scanned the crowd, taking note of the predominantly male attendees. There was no familiar face to ease the fluttering nerves of her stomach, and she assured herself that the team was merely blending in with their surroundings. She approached the concierge and claimed the key card for her room. At the other side of the lobby, stood a kiosk flanked by conference registration placards. She moved toward the table and saw Beth fielding questions and talking politely to the delegates. Her sense of relief at a familiar face was palatable, and in her haste to cross to the desk she failed to see a man walking in the same direction. The force of a body colliding with hers rocked her on her feet.

"I'm terribly sorry," Ruth apologised, flustered by her lack of grace, frustrated that she had made it through a revolving door but was unable to walk across a lobby. The man steadied her by taking her elbow. A glance at his face told her immediately that it was Vincent Otero.

"Entirely my fault," he said with a soft Spanish accent, graciously motioning for her to go before him.

Ruth recovered herself, hoping that she hadn't given out any hint of recognition toward Otero and moved up to the desk.

"Could I have your name please," Beth asked.

"Evelyn Turner," replied Ruth in a voice loud for Otero to hear.

Beth scrolled through the database on the laptop in front of her. "Ah yes, Ms Turner. The translators are setting up in the west lounge."

She handed Ruth a laminated badge with a lanyard, the look in her eyes telegraphing that she knew exactly who Ruth had run into and that their interaction was for the benefit of Ruth's cover. Ruth took the badge and gave a quick smile of gratitude to Otero before she left the table.

Following along with the other delegates, she headed over to a bank of lifts, edging in with her suitcase and squeezing in alongside the crowd. Reaching her floor, she manoeuvred her way out. The hallway was remarkably quiet after the activity of the lobby and her boots fell softly on the carpeted floor as she found her way to her door. She pulled out her key card, her senses heightened, extra vigilant after her run in with Otero. A door opened a few suites down, and she paused waiting to see who it was. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man walking towards her. He stopped. She froze. Harry. Her mind raced through the conference set up, wondering how on earth they had been assigned rooms so close together. The lift bell dinged, and the murmur of voices sounded at the other end of the corridor. She focused on her door, not daring to look up. Harry continued down the hall, passing her without greeting or a sign of recognition. Ruth hurriedly slid the card along the scanner and slipped into the refuge of her room.

Flicking on the lights, she looked around her suite and straightway headed to a large chair, sinking into its padded comfort with relief. Not only had she run into Otero minutes into the conference, but now Harry was two doors down the hall. There must have been some sort of mix-up; she had been given the wrong card at the front desk. She should go down and change it. No, that would only draw attention. Theoretically, their proximity shouldn't cause a problem, they were on an operation, they would never see each other. They would be moving in different spheres, she as a translator, he as a pharmaceutical rep. It was nothing she couldn't handle. She cast an eye over to the bar fridge. No, it was before noon, still too early. Shrugging her shoulders, she decided the only thing to do was freshen up and check in with Lucas and Tariq in the control room.

With her mobile and keycard in hand, she found her way to the command room and knocked on the panel of an unassuming door. She waited, dreading the idea that Harry might answer and that she would have to interact with him. Should she mention their late night phone call? Better to pretend that it never happened. To her immense relief, the door was opened by Lucas, smartly dressed in a suit, looking efficient with a clipboard in his hand. She entered the room and saw Tariq camped in front of a computer, the screen divided into various feeds from around the building. He was patched into the hotel's surveillance cameras as well as a few judiciously placed ones of his own. Harry was not in the room, and a tiny part of her could not help but be disappointed. Tariq handed her a key card.

"I've reprogrammed this card to work on any door. You can access any room with it."

"Does everyone have one of these?" Her eyes flitted to the monitor, looking for a familiar figure.

"Yes, it's safer this way," Lucas assured her as he studied his clipboard.

She rotated the card between her fingers and nodded, not entirely sure that it was safer.

"We won't have you on comms," continued Lucas. "You can blend in more easily with the delegates."

"But we do have a tracker for you." Tariq handed her a necklace. "And one for Lamott." He showed her a watch.

"How do I get it to him inconspicuously?" She fastened the silver chain around her throat, absently playing with the small stone that hung from it, assuming that was where the tracker lay.

"I'm sure you'll figure out a way." Lucas smiled.

"You can hang out with the delegates,' said Tariq. "No one will notice you."

"After the session this afternoon there's a Welcome Dinner," Lucas read the agenda from his clipboard. "It could be a good opportunity for Lamott to strike up a casual conversation with Otero and you can keep an eye on him."

"Has Lamott checked in?"

Tariq turned to his terminal a pulled up a screen. "Yes, he is on the floor below you."

"I've sent his schedule to your mobile," said Lucas. "We all have it, so we'll know if there is any deviation."

"And Harry?" She casually scrolled through her mobile as if her question was of little consequence. Better to know where he was so she could be prepared or avoid him entirely.

"The pharma people are having their own meeting this afternoon. Dmitri will be liaising back and forth, but Beth should be on your radar."

She nodded. "I'll go find Lamott."

Standing alone in the lift, she closed her eyes and mentally reviewed the points of her legend. It was strange not to be with Control, not to be in communication with the team. She felt a bit untethered. The doors of the lift opened and a sea of delegates stood before her. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the crowd, alert, eyes wide open, searching for Lamott. Finally, she spotted him at the far side of the room. She bent over as if she were picking an object up off the floor and then walked straight toward him. He was not alone, he was talking to Otero. How very industrious of him. She came up to the two men.

"Pardon me; did either of you gentlemen lose a watch?"

Ruth held up the watch. Otero shook his head, but Lamott looked her in the eye, immediately understanding what she was attempting to do.

"Yes, that's mine." He took it from her hand. "Stupid clip keeps coming undone. Thank you," he read the badge on her lanyard. "Evelyn."

She smiled politely at him, taking in his appearance. He looked remarkably respectable in a green blazer and pressed trousers. It also appeared that he had succumbed to a decent haircut, the grey gone, his hair now darker. Under the flattering lights of the lobby, the previously sallow tinge to his skin was replaced by a healthier colour. He was actually a very handsome man. Once again she was reminded of George, and she blinked quickly, immediately dismissing the notion.

"We have already run into each other, have we not?" Otero smiled at her revealing brilliant white teeth. He was flirting with her

"Yes, we have." She returned a flirtatious smile. Or at least to the best of her ability. She needed to practice all that she could. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go and prepare for the opening session."

As she walked away the sound of laughter erupted from the two men and an unexplainable chill ran down her spine. Were they laughing at her? She held her head high in an effort not to let the sound affect her. Did Otero suspect something? No, that wasn't possible. She had been very careful. She shook the doubts away by increasing her pace as she approached the main conference room.

In preparation for the Plenary Session on Global Health, Ruth donned her headset and ordered her papers on the desk in front of her, glancing over the various biological terms. The welcoming address commenced, leading into the keynote speaker. She diligently translated his speech, easily sliding into the world of viruses and their constantly mutating forms, fascinated by the idea that such a small organism could outwit the immunity of a host far greater in size. As she spoke into her headset, her eyes wandered around the room, landing on Lamott, and then over to the exit where Beth sat. The young woman stared up at the ceiling obviously bored to tears. Ruth felt for her. Not every operation could be filled with action and excitement, in fact, Ruth was quite enjoying the academic pace of this one. Finally, the session concluded and the attendees flowed back into the corridor. Ruth scanned the crowd hoping to see Lamott.

"Thank you again for returning my watch."

She quickly turned around and found Lamott standing behind her, holding a cup of coffee in his hand.

"I assume that's how you are going to keep track of my whereabouts?" Lamott continued.

"How are you doing?" She spoke to him but looked around the room.

"That's a pretty necklace. Was it made by the same company that made my watch?"

Ruth resisted the urge to touch the chain around her neck. Astute fellow. She would have to be careful.

"I've introduced myself to Otero." He took a sip of his coffee

"I noticed. Good work." She inched closer to him. "There's a dinner tonight."

"Are you asking me out?"

She ignored the question. "It might a good opportunity for you to get some information from him."

"Will you be there?"

"I'll be in the background."

"What if I need you and I can't find you."

"Don't worry, I'll find you."

She lightly tapped the watch on his wrist, and the same look passed over his face that he had given her in the factory. All it took was the smallest of touches. She turned and walked away, ashamed at her manipulation of him, while at the same time slightly amused that she could have such an effect. The next thing she knew they would be calling her Mata Hari.

Back in her room, she readied herself for the dinner, fetching the black dress from her suitcase. She eyed it critically, wondering if it was too formal for the occasion, after all, she was only an employee of the conference. On the other hand, it was black, and simple enough that she could dress it up or down. She had brought it why not make use of it. There was a crease running down the centre, and she unearthed a small hotel iron, set on pressing it out. As she stood, half-dressed, the steam rising from the iron, her thoughts wandered to the room two doors down. Was Harry doing the same? But instead of removing a crease, was he pressing one into his trousers? The thought of Harry ironing made her smile. No, he would send everything to the cleaners. The smell of burning fabric invaded her nostrils and she hurriedly lifted the iron from her dress, thankful that the material was black. A glance at her phone told her that she needed to hurry, giving her time to only apply fresh lipstick before she headed out the door.

A golden glow hung over the ballroom, and Ruth stood for a moment by the doorway, enchanted by the elegant chair covers and floating candles. A jazz quartet played softly in the background, adding to the hum of the muted conversation and clinking silverware. If only she were here for pleasure. As much as she wanted to absorb the ambience, she needed to press on. Most of the round linen-draped tables were already full and she was directed to a spot near the back of the room. She found herself in the company of her fellow translators and conference staff, a castaway in a sea of strangers. There was no sign of the team, but she did have a direct eye line to the table where Lamott sat. The young woman beside her introduced herself as Mirella, and they engaged in a few words of sporadic conversation. Information could easily be found from any source. The servers ferried large silver platters back and forth and a plate was placed before her. She gazed down appreciatively at a succulent piece of roast beef. She dug into it with relish, admitting to herself that she hadn't had a decent meal in weeks, perhaps months. Mirella stared at her.

"Haven't eaten all day," Ruth explained, still chewing the meat. "Didn't realise how hungry I was until it was placed in front of me." She swallowed the piece at a more sedate pace, washing it down with a sip of water as she looked around the room.

The waiters cleared the plates, bringing out coffee and a dessert. She picked a piece of lint from the skirt of her black dress, only half listening to the conversation around her. The volume of the quarter grew a little louder and people's conversation followed suit. A few of the delegates who had brought their significant others filtered onto to the small dance floor. One by one, the occupants of her primarily female table were asked out onto the dance floor. Ruth leant her elbow on the table and rested her chin in one hand, her other hand dallying with the fork from her half-finished cheesecake. She looked over at Lamott now engaged in an animated discussion with Otero. At least he was enjoying himself. She could not begrudge him that; he should take advantage of the opportunity while it lasted before they returned him to his life on the periphery. That was how she felt, like a wallflower relegated to the sidelines while everyone else enjoyed themselves. It was a silly feeling really, considering that she was there to work. She was meant to be spying not dancing. Lamott rose from his table, and she straightened up, readying herself to follow him if need be. She needn't have worried, for instead of evading her, he walked straight to the table where she sat.

"Would you like to dance?"

She sat for a moment stunned by the offer and then quickly came to the conclusion that she should accept it. It was the best way to keep her eye on him and a discreet way to share information. The dance floor was crowded, and she walked in front of him, acutely aware that she was being watched, either by a fellow spook or at the least by Tariq's cameras. Lamott put his arm around her waist and took hold of her hand. After a few steps on the dance floor, he spoke to her.

"Otero has been telling me about a company called DynaGen. He's been tapped by a recruiter with the added bonus that he can assemble a team of his choosing."

"DynaGen?" Ruth didn't know the name. "I haven't heard of them."

"Apparently, they're meeting with him tomorrow."

"Do you have any idea where and when?"

He shook his head. A couple bumped into them, and he pulled her closer. "I like your dress, Evelyn. It's very flattering."

She subtly pulled away from him. "Has he said anything about Kessel?"

"No, and I'm not quite sure how I would broach that subject."

"Fair enough."

"Do you dance much in your line of work? You're quite good at it."

The observation barely registered, her mind sifting through questions to ask him. "Any mention about virus experiments?"

"Only in the proper sense, not in the non-ethical sense."

Before she could move onto her next question, a voice spoke from behind her shoulder.

"May I cut in?"

Lamott stopped dancing. Ruth turned around to see Harry.

"I didn't know people still did that," Lamott observed. He gave Ruth a concerned look. "Is it all right with you?"

It was only natural that he should ask, he had no idea who Harry was, and for some reason, she found his concern flattering. She nodded her consent, unsure if she could do otherwise having never in lifetime been in that particular position. A desolate look crossed Lamott's face, revealing that he had hoped her answer would be to the contrary. He walked away, leaving her alone with the man who had come between them.

Couples continued to swirl around the floor, but she remained motionless, looking at Harry, her heart beat at a disturbingly irregular tempo. It was the first time she had seen him since that morning, or since their telephone conversation and she had no idea how to proceed. As streams of dancers eddied around them, it became increasingly clear that they would have to move at some point. A voice in the back of her head cautioned that to dance with him would be highly inappropriate, that she could still demur out of the invitation. Evidently, Harry was not troubled by the same concerns; he held out his hand and waited for her to take it. With deliberate caution, she placed her hand on his, hoping to minimise any contact, but his fingers curled tightly around hers, the warm pad of his palm pressing against her skin. He lifted his other hand, and she held her breath, tensing at the expectation of its pressure on her back. His touch was not immediate, and she could feel the heat of his hand as it hovered behind her. Slowly, the weight of his hand came to rest on her lower back, a soft breath of air escaping from her lungs as he pulled her gently towards him. Unsure where to put her other hand, she vacillated between his chest and his shoulder, deciding in the end that his shoulder was the safest place. A stiffness overcame her body, the awkward feeling of a young girl at her first dance.

"Relax," he whispered, as he looked out over the dancefloor.

He slid his foot between hers, his knee brushing against her leg and with a subtle exertion of pressure on her back, he sent them slowly swaying onto the dance floor.

Not knowing where to look, she stared at the pattern of his tie; an intricate weaving of silver and black. It looked new; she thought she knew all of his ties. Breathing was next to impossible and she kept the movements of her chest shallow in an effort to maintain a discreet distance between their torsos. She turned away and looked into the crowd, her cheek close to his chest. He bent down her ear.

"Morgenstern."

She moved her head to look at him.

"Phillip Morgenstern," he continued. "He was at the pharmaceutical meeting."

"It's not Morningstar." The wheels of her mind turned, and her feet stopped. "There was no Morgenstern on the event list."

"Last minute addition." He pulled her back into the dance. "Or so he says."

Concluding that their dance was an information sharing session and not an attempt at intimacy, Ruth relented slightly and relaxed.

"Is he our man?"

"I don't know."

"Paul said-"

"Paul?" Harry's fingers moved against her back.

"Lamott," she corrected. " He said Otero was approached by a rep from DynaGen."

"Morgenstern is with DynaGen."

"That must be it." She smiled at him.

"Well done. Excellent work." He squeezed her hand and brought it up to rest on his chest. "Now we just need to find the connection."

The difference between the two conversations did not go unnoticed by her. Whereas Lamott had complimented her dress, Harry lauded her intelligence gathering abilities.

"We need to run a background on the company," she formulated the next steps.

"I have a feeling there might be some interesting investors."

During their whispered conversation he had drawn her closer, his leg pressing against the top of her thigh. Without conscious thought, her hand moved from his shoulder to the base of his neck. The quartet segued into another song and they continued to dance.

"Do you think the virus is here?" she asked.

"That would be very risky."

"Can we search their rooms?"

"We'll get the team together in the morning." His lips brushed against her hair as he spoke. "Let them know what we've found out."

She let out a small hum, whether in agreement to his plan or at the proximity of his body she wasn't sure. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to lean into him. His hand slid a fraction of an inch down her back, pressing into the deepest curve of her spine, igniting a bundle of nerves, a wave of warmth flowing through the lower half of her body. A soft sigh escaped her lips, the movement bringing her breasts against his chest, as her forehead pressed against his cheek, and his lips grazed her temple. She closed her eyes, sinking into the feel of his arms as they wrapped around her body, the heady scent of controlled heat enveloping her. The gentle rocking of their dance slowed to the barest movement. The battle to a maintain a professional distance lost through incremental surrender. So entirely consumed by the moment was she, that it took a minute for her to realise that the music had stopped. Slowly, the sounds of the room invaded her ears; the band packing up, the bustle of people leaving. She opened her eyes and blinked, wondering what had come over her. She stepped back in bewilderment, Harry releasing his hold and letting his arms drop to his side. The heat lingered from where his hands had rested, points where their bodies had touched, the fabric of her dress pulled tight over her sensitised skin. He looked down at her, the muscles of jaw clenching, seemingly in control but for the look in his eyes; a dark hunger that saw right through her dress. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"We have to stay focused," he whispered.

She looked at him blankly, the words entering her brain through a haze.

"The operation comes first."

Her mind slowly restarted and she nodded, the power of speech eluding her.

His mouth drew into a grim line and he turned away, slipping into the crowd, fading into the darkness, ten times more the spy than she ever was.

"Who was that?"

Lamott's voice pulled her back from her Harry-induced reverie. Her fingers absently rose to the chain at her throat.

"Just a salesman."

"He seemed pretty friendly."

He moved into her line of sight, blocking her view of the path that Harry had taken. She shrugged her shoulders.

"You know how salesmen are, always trying to push something on you."

Lamott studied her, not entirely taken in by her explanation. Had she compromised Harry? It was only a dance. Pretend that nothing had happened. She looked back at him blandly.

"We had better get to bed." She held up her hand in protest. "And no, that is not an invitation."

"Can I at least walk you to your room?"

"You can walk me to the lift."

The concession seemed to have marginally appeased him and they threaded their way through the crowd. The hair prickled on the back of her neck, someone was watching. Her eyes cast out over the crowd, looking for his silhouette one last time. She sighed. It would be one more lonely night with only the contents of the hotel bar fridge and her imagination for company.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N – A longish chapter, but I didn't want to break it up. Hope you don't mind. Thank you once again for reading and reviewing!_

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As a woman who lived her life in the shadows, Ruth fully expected her movements to fly under the radar and her actions to fade away without comment. It was under that assumption that she entered the command room, preoccupied with the news of Morgenstern and DynaGen. It only took a few steps into the room for her to realise that her dance the night before had not gone unnoticed.

"Morning," Tariq greeted her with a broad smile.

"Did you have a good time last night?" Beth asked innocently, her hair pulled back, face freshly scrubbed. It was hard to think of her as any sort of mercenary but then they were any of them not what they seemed.

"Yes, thank you."

"Sleep well?"

Ruth gritted her teeth. Was Beth alluding to her dance with Harry or was she fishing for something more salacious?

"I had a wonderful sleep," she answered as neutrally as possible. "The beds are very comfortable here."

Beth grinned at her impishly.

Perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned beds. Or lied about having had a good nights rest. It had been more of a war fought with tangled sheets and half imagined dreams; a semi-conscious land filled with shadowy images and whispered longing. She took a deep breath, searching for a safer topic.

The door opened and any further discussion was mercifully suspended. Lucas entered, followed by Dimitri, and the two men headed over to a table that held a carafe of coffee and a basket of Danishes. Ruth joined them helping herself to a beverage. With early morning lethargy, the team found seats around the table, conversation reduced to a minimum. The last remnants of sleep were instantly shaken off when Harry entered the room.

"Right," Harry opened the briefing, pouring himself a coffee as he spoke. "We have a new development. Phillip Morgenstern." He sat down at the head of the table and reached into his pocket, pulling out a business card. He slid it across the table toward Ruth.

"Morgenstern is German for Morningstar," Ruth added.

"He's American," Harry continued. "A pharmaceutical rep, but we need to find out if he has any ties with..." His eyes landed on Ruth, the name of the company vanishing from his memory.

"DynaGen," Ruth offered. "They've apparently tapped Otero."

"Did you get that from Lamott?" asked Lucas

"Yes." Ruth nodded. "And they're willing to let Otero assemble his own team."

"Maybe Kessel was going to be part of that team," Beth conjectured.

"We need to investigate DynaGen. Find out if there is a connection to the virus." Harry stretched his arm onto the table. "I think it's best that we take Ruth off the floor."

Ruth stiffened at his words, immediately on the defensive. "I've built up a connection with Lamott. He trusts me."

"He still needs minding," Lucas pointed out.

"I'm sure we can keep an eye on him." Harry slowly tapped his fingers on the table.

"Beth can easily research DynaGen," Ruth countered.

"But that is your area of expertise." Harry looked down at his tapping fingers. "Collecting information."

Ruth's eyes bore into him, daring him to look at her but he refused. It was the same phrase he had used in his office when they had first discovered the virus. He was pulling her off of Lamott and putting her in her place. It smacked of proprietary rights. A thought struck her. What if Beth had not been hinting about her and Harry, but her and Lamott? Was Harry also think along those lines? She reeled her thoughts back in and noticed that Harry was studying her. He quickly glanced away.

"Dimitri, you're on Morgenstern, Beth on Otero. Lucas, you take Lamott, he already knows you."

Ruth seethed at the setback. It was completely unmerited. She had done an excellent job with Lamott, brought back good Intel. She would not give in easily.

"I'm going to check on him. Just to be safe. We don't want him to feel abandoned."

Before Harry could contradict her, Ruth rose from her seat and determinedly left the room closing the door firmly behind her. What the rest of the team thought of her abrupt exit, she did not care. She strode down the hall to the lift, knowing full well that part of their success with Lamott was the connection she had fostered with him. There was an element of personal responsibility she felt towards the man whose life they had upended. She was not about to let that all be washed down the drain.

Exiting the lift, Ruth found Lamott at the breakfast buffet. He was engaged in a conversation with Otero, a fact which gave Ruth pause, but she moved forward anyway.

"Good morning, lovely translator." Otero winked at her. He moved down the line to a dish of bacon and sausages.

Lamott stood at a chafing dish of scrambled eggs, scooping a portion onto his plate.

Ruth whispered as she stood beside him. "I'll be gone this morning."

He remained looking down at the eggs, a frown crossing his face. "Why?"

"Paperwork," she grimaced.

"I need to talk to you."

Ruth nodded and they extracted themselves from the crowd around the buffet, finding a table to stand at while he ate.

"Something is going down this afternoon," said Lamott.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Otero isn't attending the afternoon sessions. He has a meeting with the rep from DynaGen."

"Do you know where or when?" she asked.

"No."

"That's fine. We can work with that."

Ruth bestowed a warm smile on him, partly because of his information, and partly because she had been right to trust her instincts to come and speak with him. He would never have revealed as much to Lucas.

"Will you come back?"

"Don't worry, you'll be well looked after." Her hand moved, another touch, another smile.

"I'll miss seeing you," he said forlornly, his words falling on the floor as Ruth walked away.

There was no time to coddle him; she needed to get back to the Control room as fast as possible. Running down the hall, she cursed the fact that they had not put her on Comms. She bursts through the door, startling Tariq and receiving a questioning look from Harry.

"We need to red flash the team. There's a meeting this afternoon."

She aimed her words at Harry, suppressing a smile as she struggled to hide her look of vindication. Harry regarded her in silence, nonplussed by her news. Without acknowledging her revelation, he gave a slight nod to Tariq to gather the team.

In lightening fashion, the team was assembled, briefed, and then dispersed back into the conference, leaving no ripple in their absence. Ruth sat down, trying to keep her agitation under control, resenting the fact that she was not in the thick of the action. Within minutes of turning on her computer though, she fell back into her regular role, following the trail of investors to DynaGen. Like so many corporations that populated the world, she peeled away layers revealing entity upon entity. Morning became afternoon and Harry reappeared back in the room.

"Have you discovered anything?"

"Yes." Ruth flipped through the screens on her computer. "Bionex, the company that Kessel and Otero originally worked for was acquired by a larger corporation, Hydrova, along with all its research. What they were researching, I'm not entirely certain, but I'm starting to think it was more than anti-aging drugs."

"Let me guess, Hydrova has a stake in DynaGen.'

"Exactly. A major shareholder in Hydrova is, Victor Kulev"

"So there is a Russian connection. But none of the other players are Russian."

"Money has no country," she pointed out dryly.

"So Kulev gets wind of a sample of smallpox, which turns out to be Veepox and assembles a team of scientist.

"They perfect it and sell it to the highest bidder." Ruth conjectured. "Or develop an antidote and then release it into the world and set themselves as the only company with the cure."

Before they could postulate on any more theories, Harry's phone rang. He answered it and then snapped his fingers at Tariq, motioning toward the monitors. Ruth scrambled over to a chair and picked up a headset. The voices of Beth and Dimitri came over the line, softly relaying the progress of their marks. Tariq toggled through screens, finally landing on a visual of Otero and Morgenstern.

The headset was small, it pinched her ear, and she tilted her head to adjust it. At the same moment, Harry leant over her shoulder to look at the screen. Their heads came perilously close together and she inhaled sharply. He reached across her for a spare headset, his chest brushing against the top of her shoulder. Voices filtered into her ear but they were no more than garbled sounds, her concentration having been completely disrupted. She needed to focus, but she could feel the nearness of his hand on the back of her chair. The same hand that had rested on the curve of her back. He held the headset to one ear and turned his head to look at her. His cheek was close to hers, his lips near her ear. Their eyes met and he gave her a long look.

"Do we have a Hazmat team on standby?" he asked.

Ruth swallowed and nodded. True to his form, it was the most unromantic phrase she had ever heard.

"Morgenstern has entered a room." Tariq pointed to the screen, bringing her attention back to the operation.

"Otero is coming down the hall," Beth whispered.

"Do we have eyes and ears in there?" Harry asked.

"No," Tariq responded. "But Beth has a mobile transponder, she just has to get near enough so she can pick up their conversation."

Harry nodded at Tariq.

"Alpha Two, the room next door has an adjoining vent," Tariq informed Beth. "See how far you can get the transponder in."

"I'm on it."

Harry stood up and crossed his arms as he waited for an update. There was no video of the actual room so Ruth focused on the monitor displaying the corridor. This had to be it; she closed her eyes, willing a conversation to transpire that would incriminate Morgenstern and Otero and validate her theory that the virus was linked to this event. Time dragged on as they waited for Beth to speak.

"What's happening?" Harry finally asked.

"Delta Two," Ruth signalled. "Report."

Beth's voice came over the headset in a raspy whisper. "Morgenstern is talking about compensation and bonus packages and how beautiful Prague is."

"Is there anything about the virus?"

"No, he's talking about a placement with DynaGen in their anti-aging division."

"There must be more," Ruth coaxed.

"Not unless something is happening inside the room. We can't get a visual."

Dimitri's deeper voice broke over her headset. "Morgenstern is leaving the room."

"Already?" Ruth asked.

"Delta Two," Tariq chimed in, "Your mark is also leaving the room."

"Copy that," Beth responded.

The monitors showed Morgenstern walking down the hall one way and Otero leaving in the opposite direction. Ruth took off her headset.

"That can't be it," she said in disbelief. "There must be something else."

Harry tossed his headset back onto the desk, Ruth flinching as the device clattered in front of her.

"I don't understand." She leant back in her chair. "Everything was leading up to this. All the pieces would have fit into place."

"Sometimes, we want the pieces to fit into our own picture and not the reality of the situation.' He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm going to check in with Dimitri and the pharma reps."

Without any further analysis of the meeting, he left the room. Tariq gave Ruth a rueful glance and she quickly looked away, taking the failure of the meeting to yield anything useful information as entirely her fault. The fact that Harry had left so quickly only added to the injury.

Tariq still wore his headset and he relayed an instruction to Ruth. "Lucas wants you back on Lamott."

She nodded and dejectedly headed back out into the hotel to find her charge.

The afternoon faded into the evening, and Ruth found herself stationed outside the lounge area, ensconced in a large leather chair. Lamott was enjoying a drink with a group of scientists, and she was maintaining a discreet distance. She could not let go of the afternoon's failure to produce any concrete proof. What clues had she missed? She stifled a large yawn. The sleep deficit from the previous nights was catching up with her and closed her eyes just for a minute.

"I think Lamott is leaving."

Ruth's eyes flew open to find see Lucas sitting across from her. She sat up, blinking, gathering herself together. He smiled at her.

"I'll see that he gets to his room. You need to get some rest."

Ruth nodded and Lucas rose from his seat. Lamott walked into the lobby accompanied by a group of men, and Lucas tailed them to the bank of lifts.

Ruth stood up and stretched, fully intending to follow Lucas' advice. The soft notes of a piano drifted from the lounge, and she wondered who was left in the room. Curiosity getting the better of her, she hovered in the shadows of the entrance, leaning against the wall. A familiar silhouette sat at the bar. Harry was conversing with the bartender, his shoulders moving slightly in amusement. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him laugh. They had not spoken since the afternoon and she realised that his lack of assurance in her skill had eroded her confidence. He held up his glass signalling that he wanted another drink. For some reason, she felt slighted by his decision; he should be calling it a night and retiring to the emptiness of his room just as she had planned to do. The shadows told her to walk away, but her feet moved of their own accord and she found herself walking slowly towards the bar. The bartender looked up as she approached and he canted his head toward Harry with a sly smile. Harry, on the other hand, kept his back to her.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked.

"I'll have a martini." She placed her hand on the bar for support as she took a seat beside Harry. "Vodka martini."

"Vodka?" Harry spoke into his glass. "Sacrilege."

"Purist," she countered, her gaze remaining of the row of bottles behind the bar. The corners of his mouth tilted in an almost smile.

The bartender deposited the drink in front of her and then discreetly moved to the other end of the bar. Perhaps he had pegged Harry as the proverbial lonely salesman, cruising the conference for a pickup. Ruth took a long sip of her drink, wondering in what role she had been cast. She smiled into her glass at the thought that anyone would ever entertain such an idea about her. Sensing her amusement, Harry half turned in his seat.

"What are you smiling at?"

She looked at him over the rim of her glass. "Nothing." She took another sip, remembering their roles. "Have you had any success at the conference?" she asked innocuously, translator to pharmaceutical rep.

"It hasn't quite lived up to my expectations."

She extracted a tiny spear that held three olives, and bit one off, rolling it around in her mouth. "There is always tomorrow."

"Indeed." His eyes darted briefly to her mouth. "I noticed you've been spending quite a lot of time with one of the delegates."

"Have I?"

"It happens sometimes in these situations. Close contact, feelings develop."

As she dropped another olive into her mouth, she couldn't help but think there was a faint note of jealousy to Harry's observation.

"It's happened to me," he continued.

With those words, the jealousy that she had assigned to his comment quickly boomeranged back to her. How many assets had he become emotionally entangled with and to what degree? Not that it mattered, it was all in the past, and she had no claim to him. She lifted the last olive from the skewer with her tongue and raised her eyes to see Harry's gaze focused on her mouth, and in that moment she knew he was not talking about an asset from the past, he was talking about her. She hastily chewed the olive and swallowed it, licking the residue from her lips. She took a long sip of her drink realising that she had reached the bottom of her glass far sooner than she had intended. He took a sip and his Adam apple bobbed slowly as he swallowed.

"Will you have another?" he asked, his voice a low invitation.

She measured her response. She could already feel the effects of her one drink. The slight flush of her cheeks, the knot at the base of her neck dissipating, a warmth easing through her limbs. It was such a lovely feeling; she didn't want to let it go. Why couldn't she stay and enjoy his company? They were merely two people having drinks at a bar. That's all it would be – a drink and nothing more. She nodded her assent, and Harry signalled to the bartender.

Their drinks arrived and she immediately took a long sip. Harry positioned himself closer, leaning one arm against the bar, his knee coming into contact with her leg.

"And how are you finding the conference?"

"It's been very interesting." She absently stirred the olive skewer around her glass. "I'm sure tomorrow will prove even more so."

Harry leaned in, exuding an air of confidentiality, and she looked at him expecting a salient piece of information.

"I don't much care for olives."

A smile tugged at her lips. "I love them." She removed the skewer from her glass with the intent of eating of eating one.

"Maybe I haven't tasted the right ones."

She looked from him to the skewer and then hastily placed it on the cocktail napkin, hoping to distance herself from any inference. Her eyes widened as he took an olive from the skewer and placed it in his mouth. A roguish smile crossed his lips. She ignored it. He was teasing her, taking a certain pleasure in seeing how far they could take their roles.

"I didn't get a chance to thank you for the dance last night."

She looked at him wondering if he was talking to her as a salesman or as Harry.

"I don't get much opportunity to dance." She raised her glass to her lips, calming her nerves with another long drink.

"Neither do I." The expression on his face grew serious. "In fact, I haven't danced in a very long time."

Alarm bells sounded. Her usual limit was two drinks, and she had consumed them over a short amount of time. If she stayed any longer she might lose control over the situation.

"I should head up," she said without looking at him, not wanting to send any sort of signal.

"That's probably a good idea," he agreed calmly. "I'll see you in the morning." He turned back to the bar.

She carefully slid off her stool, not wanting to create any inadvertent contact. She hesitated, wondering if she should say anything else but decided to remain silent. There was nothing to be gained by further conversation. The walk through the lounge felt inextricably long but it was the right decision, she told herself. As she neared the elevator, Lucas crossed the lobby to meet her.

"Lamott is safely tucked in for the night." He looked at her curiously. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm just tired." Her head swam slightly from the alcohol.

"Don't let this afternoon derail you. We can't let down our guard. We both can't be wrong. They're waiting for us to look the other way."

"Maybe Lamott will have some more information in the morning," she offered, trying to meet his optimism. "I'll check in with him then."

"Okay," Lucas nodded. "I thought I told you to get to bed."

"I'm going, I'm going." She held up her hands as she walked away.

She pressed the lift button and the doors opened as if it had been waiting for her. She stepped in a pushed the button for her floor, leaning against the mirrored wall in exhaustion. A hand wrapped around the lift door to stop it from closing, and she stood up in shock. Her first thought was Dimitri. To her surprise, Harry walked into the lift.

"I thought you had already headed up?"

"I was detained."

The doors slid close.

"Anything I need to worry about?"

"Lucas was just checking in."

They stood in silence as the lift ascended, Ruth painfully aware of the confines of the space. She moved as far into the corner as possible, leaving Harry to stare at the door. The elevator gave a muffled ping indicating their floor. The doors slid open and Harry held back allowing her to exit before him. As she walked down the hall, she could sense Harry a few paces behind her. She stopped at her door and held her breath. Harry continued on down the hall, no word of goodnight as he passed her.

That was all there was to it. Drinks and nothing more. The epitome of professionalism. Translator and salesman.

For some reason, her fingers shook as she searched for her key card in her pocket. All she had to do was get in the door. Her card hovered over the magnetic swipe, temptation whispering in her ear, telling her to take one last look at him. She subtly turned her head. He stood at his door, deep in thought, searching for his own card and before she was aware of his intention, he lifted his head and caught her gaze. She froze. She knew that she should turn away, slip into her room as if nothing had happened. The beat of her heart increased, magnified by the silence of the corridor. Each successive breath grew shallower than the last. She waited for him to break the contact. Surely, he would give her one last look of regret as he usually did and retreat into the sanctuary of his own room. Instead, he retraced his steps back in her direction, his gaze holding hers. Look away, she told herself, scan the card and walk into the room. He would understand, it was expected of her, it's what she always did. He came up and stood beside her. Her mouth was dry and her fingers curled around the smooth plastic of the card. She turned to the door, and he let out a jagged breath of disappointement. With a quick swipe, she passed the card through the scanner and slipped into the room, holding the door open behind her. In one smooth step he slid into the room with her. She closed the door, unable to let go of the handle, the metal beneath her hand grounding her. She leaned a shoulder against the door her heart beating with the velocity of a thief who had escaped capture. She closed her eyes. What was she doing? This was madness.

The room lay in darkness, pinpoints of city lights filtering through the window. The outlines of furniture slowly appeared; a desk, a chair, the bed. Every surface offering itself up to enticing possibilities. She remained near the safety of the door.

"Ruth," he whispered her name, confirming that she was still with him in the darkness.

Her heart beat in her throat and she found it hard to speak above a whisper. Say it, there was nothing to lose.

"If something were to happen between us…"

"If something were to happen between us-" He leant against the door, bringing his head closer to hers. "It couldn't happen here."

"Yes..." She shook her head. "I mean, no, of course not."

It was as if she had been given a reprieve - nothing would happen that night; they could merely discuss the possibility of something happening. Eventually. Even with that thought, she found herself shaking from the boldness of the conversation.

"If something were to happen, hypothetically speaking that is, it wouldn't necessarily mean…" She weighed the word in her mouth. "It wouldn't mean yes."

"Yes ... to what?"

"Your-" She searched for the right word. "Your offer."

"Ah."He shifted his balance, his body angled toward her, the front of his jacket brushing her arm. "Then what would it mean?"

"Well," she swayed slightly toward him caught in a strange tide of desire and restraint. "It's not something that would be entered into lightly."

"Hmmm." He mulled over her answered. "How would it be entered into?"

He inched closer, his breath tickling her temple. Her mouth was near his throat, her senses overwhelmed with the crisp scent of his collar and the underlying musk of his skin. Her hand remained on the handle, his hands by his side; they had not touched each other except for the breath of their words.

"I would imagine that it would be entered into very slowly."

"Slowly?" He rolled the word around in his mouth.

It was like a match to a tinder and she belatedly realised she was once again playing with fire. He inhaled a shaky breath, his mouth near her cheek.

"I think I would like that."

A shudder ran through her. Not only was she playing with fire, she had invited the fire into her room. Perhaps she hadn't thought things through, but it too late, it was becoming increasingly hard to think at all.

"Of course, it couldn't happen here." She reminded him, hoping to douse the spark that was growing between them.

"Of course not." His head dipped in closer, his lips hovering at her ear.

"We have to stay focused." She tilted her head a fraction, hoping to dissuade him, but it only served to reveal more of her neck.

"Very focused," he echoed, his lips brushing against the tender spot beneath her earlobe.

"There are serious consequences." She closed her eyes, allowing him further access to her neck.

"Very serious," he murmured, his mouth moving against the exposed column of her throat.

"We should…" she sighed

"Yes, we should."

His mouth traced a path back along her jaw, and their lips slid together with surprising ease. They moved as if in water, her arms gliding over his shoulder, his hands flowing around her waist. Cautiously dipping their toes in the pool of desire, holding back, struggling to keep their heads above the surface. As his warm lips moved against hers, reason washed away, and all the barriers as to why they were a bad idea quickly eroded. His arms wrapped around her, pressing her body against his, and her lips parted in a small moan. His tongue delved into her, filling her up, breaths of vodka and scotch swirling together. Any control over her actions evaporated, surrendering to impulse, her body moving against him in its own seductive dance. He groaned into her mouth, melting into her. Memories of touch from the night before drew them together, thighs brushing against each other, his leg slipping between hers, her hip grinding into him. The hardness of his need evident against the softness of her want. His hands on the small of her back, easing lower and lower. At what point should they stop? Never, her body answered and she sank deeper into his embrace.

A knock sounded on the door.

Her eyes flew open. She clutched at his shoulders looking to him for safety. His hands froze on her back, a soft curse falling from his lips. They stared at each other, their chests heaving from the shock of interrupted passion.

"What do we do?" she whispered.

"See who it is," he quietly instructed her.

With his hand still at her waist, she took a step towards the door and looked through the peep hole.

"It's Lamott," she told him, consternation in her voice.

Harry closed his eyes in frustration, his fingers digging into her side.

"See what he wants."

She nodded and slowly opened the door a fraction. Lamott stood on the other side, slightly dishevelled and she wondered if he had been drinking.

"You shouldn't be here," she softly scolded him.

"I haven't seen you since this morning. I wanted to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine. You need to get your rest."

She closed the door in dismissal but his hand shot up, the flat of his palm slapping against the surface, holding it open.

"Maybe I could come in for a bit."

Her mouth fell open in shock. A wave of panic threatened to overcome her, abating slightly by the movement of Harry closer to her side.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," she responded coolly. "You need to go back to your room. Would you like me to call my colleague?"

He frowned, the starkness of her refusal sinking in. He mustered his body into a dignified posture.

"No, that won't be necessary." He gave her a hard look.

"Goodnight then," she said as gently as she could, hoping the encounter hadn't completely destroyed the rapport they had built. He did not answer but turned and headed back down the hall toward the lift.

She closed her door, sighing with relief. A mobile buzzed and Harry reached into his pocket.

"Yes." He rubbed his forehead as he listened to the caller. "No. I'm two doors down. I'll check on her." He logged off the phone. "That was Tariq. Apparently, he tracked Lamott to your room."

They looked at each other; they couldn't hide from the reality of their situation. They did not live in the shadows, the lived in a fishbowl. He curled his fingers into a fist and then slowly relaxed them.

"Not here," he said regretfully.

She nodded in agreement. He brushed a parting kiss against her temple and slipped out the door, vanishing once more into the night.

She stared at the closed door. Not here, not ever. They were fools to think there was any place for them.


	11. Chapter 11

The lift bell chimed and Ruth flew out of the car before the doors had properly opened. The thickly carpeted floor muffled the sound of her running boots, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her body as she scurried towards the control room. The alarm on her phone had not gone off. Once again, she had overslept. As she neared the door, her footsteps lagged, a strange heaviness invading in her chest, the weight of emotional remnants held over from her dream. In her sleep, it had not been Lamott who had shown up at her door, but George. She had tried to keep him out, rationalising that he was not real, but he had stood in her room, convincing her that he was very much alive, so much so, that she had awoken, believing it to be true. She ran her hand through the rebellious strands of her hair. At some point, she would have to release the weight of the past and place her feet firmly in the land of the living, or she would lose sight of the shore and drown.

Slightly out of breath, she opened the door, the conversation halting as she entered, the rest of the team having already assembled around the table. Murmuring a cursory sorry, she hastily took a seat, forgoing a much-needed coffee. She kept her eyes lowered, deliberately avoiding Harry's gaze. A flutter of nerves rushed through her, and she wasn't sure if it was from seeing Harry or the fact that they were running out of time for the operation to pan out. Harry made no comment on her tardiness but continued speaking.

"Where were we?"

"We've got clearance so were going search Otero's and Morgenstern's rooms," said Lucas

"And if that doesn't bear fruit?" Harry prompted.

"It's not over till it's over," Lucas said wryly.

"There's still a session this morning and a luncheon." Beth glanced at the itinerary.

A pen sat on the table, and Ruth reached out for it with nervous fingers. Across from her, Harry's hand calmly rested on the table, his fingers splayed over the surface as if he alone were holding it down, the sheer force of will keep it in place. He was the magnetic centre that held the team together, everyone drawn into his orbit. She absently rotated the pen, her hand gradually gravitating in his direction. His fingers seemed to stretch toward her. Her grip on the pen tightened. Could she ever pull herself free of this man? She glanced up and their eyes met in a startling second of naked want. She quickly looked down, watching as Harry's hand curled up into a fist.

"Should we move on our contingency plan," Harry turned to Lucas.

"Already in place."

"I just don't understand." Ruth remained focused on the pen. "Everything pointed to this conference. Infectious diseases, the connection with Kessel, the fact that Morgenstern showed up here."

"Is it possible they're planning something offsite?" asked Beth.

"We'll just have to stay on our toes," Lucas cautioned

"Do you think Lamott is feeding you bad info?" Beth looked at Ruth.

"I don't think so; he was right about the meeting yesterday." Ruth rubbed her fingers along the embossed letters on the pen's casing. It had a satisfying weight, she might keep it. It could very well turn out to be the only take away from the operation.

"I think we're in it for the long game. We sit tight until they make a mistake," said Lucas.

"I should connect with Lamott," Ruth offered "See if he has any other information." Placing the pen back on the table, she stood up and moved towards the door, hoping to leave the room before her nerves were noticed. Harry spoke as she moved.

"Yes, let's hope his timing is better today."

There was an edge to his voice, and Ruth paused for a second, absorbing his words. Between them, he was the referring to Lamott showing up at her door, but she also felt there was an aspersion against her asset, the man she had cultivated. Without acknowledging his statement, she continued out into the hall, needing the space to gather her thoughts. There was no reason for her to feel protective of Lamott, he wasn't part of the team. She was being overly sensitive to Harry's comment. It was the fallout from their encounter. That was the problem; their actions could never happen in isolation, there would always be repercussions. She had no idea what to do. There would have to be parameters set, a discussion regarding expectations. She couldn't think about it now, she needed to pull herself together, there was too much at stake. On her way to the lift, she re-evaluated her priorities. The virus was in the building and she was determined to find it.

Threading her way through the crush of delegates, Ruth headed toward a large silver urn and poured herself a coffee. As she swirled the cream around with a plastic stir stick, she felt a presence by her side.

"I'm sorry that nothing came of the meeting yesterday." Lamott poured a large measure of cream to his coffee.

The stir stick paused in her hand. How did Lamott know nothing had come of the meeting? She must have told him at some point yesterday. She looked up in time to see that Otero had joined them.

"Hello, lovely translator." Otero chose a grape from a fruit platter and plopped into his mouth. "Will you be at my session this morning? I'm presenting my abstract on the resurgence of dormant viruses and their implication on modern immunity."

"Yes, I'll be there." Ruth gave him a weak smile.

There was an undercurrent to his flirtatious manner. Or perhaps her evening with Harry had thrown off her instincts. A shiver of doubt crept over her skin.

A bell rang and the delegates dispersed to their sessions. Ruth entered the room where Otero was giving his seminar, and took her seat at the back, donning her headphones. The laptop that Otero was using refused to function properly and he entertained the audience with charming remarks while a technician resolved the problem. When he finally launched into his presentation, Ruth chose to study the pattern on the floor, rather than look at that man who was causing her so much consternation. There was a soothing quality to his voice and she was easily lulled into the rhythm of his speech.

"There are limited resources in Latin America for detecting a resurgence." Otero scrolled through slides on his laptop. "For instance, a diagnosis of Dengue could actually mask Venezuelan Equine Encephalitis

Ruth's head jerked up. Otero's eyes skimmed over the area where she was sitting. The translation of his next few sentences was dropped and she struggled to get her mind back on track. He looked at her with a slight smile. She had the distinct impression that he was baiting her. It took all of her willpower to resist ripping off her headset and confronting him on the spot. There was no backup, she was alone in the room, so she remained motionless, giving nothing away. After what felt like an eternity, the session ended and the delegates flowed out into the hallway. Ruth tried to keep Lamott and Otero in her peripheral vision as she headed over to the spot where Beth was standing.

"Otero mentioned VEE in his seminar."

Beth nodded slowly digesting the implications of Ruth's comment. "I'll tell Lucas."

"Did anything come of the room searches?"

"No, nothing."

"It's as if he was taunting me." Ruth gritted her teeth in frustration. "I think he's overconfident. Something is going to happen."

Beth turned into Ruth and subtly handed her an earbud. "Here. Wear this. Sign on as Delta Two when you're ready." She casually walked away as if nothing had transpired between the two women.

Ruth ran her fingers through her hair, giving the impression she was merely fixing her appearance. She carefully planted the bud in her ear.

"Delta Two on Comms," she said softly.

"Copy Delta Two," Lucas' voice crackled over the piece. "It's Alpha One"

"Alpha Two in position," replied Beth.

"Bravo One ready," replied Dimitri.

"This is control," Tariq's voice called out.

"Delta One, on comms."

Harry's voice poured into her ear, rich and low. Ruth closed her eyes, the sound evoking their telephone conversation, late nights and lingering words. How could she concentrate with his voice in her ear? One more reason they should not be involved. She thought about removing the device and concocting a story that it was malfunctioning but that would jeopardise the mission. No matter what, she was going to peel back this operation. She focused on searching the crowd for Lamott, willing him to come over and tell her an explosive piece of information. He must have sensed her desire to talk for he worked his way over to her but not for the reason she wanted.

"That man over there," Lamott tilted his head. "He keeps looking at you."

Ruth subtly turned her head and looked across the room. Harry stood conversing with a group of sponsors. Her heart thudded in her chest and she felt a moment of panic before pulling herself together.

"He's just the man that asked me to dance the other night."

"You seemed very familiar with him."

"Has Otero said anything else to you?" she asked, guiding the conversation away from her and Harry.

"No, he hasn't."

A voice filtered through the public address system inviting the delegates to take their seats for the luncheon in the ballroom. Ruth walked alongside Lamott.

"Perhaps you could sit with me?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

He gave her a regretful look and opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. Ruth watched him walk away, sensing that he was holding something back.

The room was completely different from the open reception. No amber glow or soothing ambience, only bright lights glaring off white tablecloths, the room echoing with loud voices. Finding her place at a table with fellow translators, she saw Harry, keeping up his legend as he sat with the sponsors. Her senses were heightened as her eyes swept over the room. This couldn't be the end. Had she completely misread every piece of information? She leaned back in her chair. Perhaps this is what happened to spies. Those who weren't cracked by conscience or killed in action were slowly led astray by floundering instinct.

She refused a cup of coffee; she was already on edge without adding caffeine to the mixture. The room quieted down as the dishes were cleared away, the Chair of the Planning Committee taking the stage to announce the presentation of awards. The audience applauded politely, and a skirted table was wheeled out onto the stage bearing a number of plaques and certificates. The presenters were asked to come forward, and Ruth sat up straighter in her chair when she saw that one of them was Morgenstern.

"Morgenstern is on the stage," Lucas said over the comms.

Ruth waited impatiently as sponsors and various members of the Planning Committee handed out awards. As the presentations wore on, one award remained on the table; a large wooden base with a strange glass orb. Morgenstern picked it up and stood beside the lectern as a society member called out the name for outstanding research. There was applause and Vincent Otero rose from his seat.

"Otero is on the move," said Beth.

Walking nimbly up onto the stage, Otero crossed over to Morgenstern and the two men shook hands. They held the award between them as a photographer captured the moment. Ruth stared at their smiling faces.

"It's the award," she hissed.

"Repeat, Delta Two," said Lucas.

"The virus is concealed in the award," Ruth said, trying to stay calm. "That's how they're handing it off."

The two men moved from the stage as the audience applauded.

"They're not going back to their seats," Beth whispered urgently. "They're headed backstage.

"Bravo One, did you copy?" Lucas asked.

"I'm in position," Dmitri confirmed.

Beth headed towards the stage while Lucas slid through a door an emergency door. Ruth presumed that Dimitri was already stationed backstage as a pre-emptive measure. She half rose in her chair, unsure what she should do. Harry casually stood up and walked toward the exit. His voice filtered over the comms.

"Hold your position, Delta Two.

She licked her lips and sat back down, her eyes darting nervously around the room. She silently seethed that she was being kept away from the action, although she knew there must be a reason for it. The audience remained blissfully unaware of any drama unfolding backstage, and the Chair of the Committee resumed his position at the podium for his closing remarks.

Ruth tapped her foot, seconds feeling like hours. The comms crackled.

"There's nothing in it," said Beth.

Ruth stood up, ready to walk backstage.

"Are you sure?" asked Harry.

"The base was hollow, but there's nothing inside."

Ruth looked around the room as if the answer lay among the crowd of people.

"We've got two angry men on our hands," said Dmitri. "They're threatening to go to their respective consulates."

"Stand down," commanded Harry. "I'm coming over."

With a final round of applause, the conference ended. It was all over. Ruth stood in stunned disbelief. Delegates moved around her, laughing, talking, going unnoticed until Lamott captured her attention.

"I guess that's it." He looked at her with a sense of relief. "What should I do now?"

Her eyes moved to the stage and then back at him, trying to conceal her disappointment. "You might as well pack up and go home."

"There was some discussion about a research position for me at the conclusion of this endeavour.

"That's above my pay grade."

"It's not going to happen, is it?" He smiled at her, but his eyes remained hard. "I guess it wasn't that bad. Teaching. Worse things in life."

The resignation to his fate was strangely unsettling. Before she could respond, he turned and walked away. She rocked on her feet, debating whether to follow him or venture backstage. Frankly, she was ready to give up on the whole bloody business.

Deciding that the best course of action was to return to the command room, she headed out into the lobby. The outer door revolved as delegates checked out and new guests arrived. The sun glinted off the rotating glass, reminding her that she hadn't seen daylight in ages. That's what she needed; fresh air to clear her mind. She would retrieve her coat and walk out into the sun. The lift was crowded when she entered, instantly confirming her decision to find release out of doors. Making it to her room, she quickly grabbed her overcoat and returned to the hall. As she closed the door, a voice spoke in her ear.

"Delta Two."

It was Tariq. She sighed having forgotten that the comms device was still in her ear - a testament to how embedded the Service was in her head.

"Go ahead," she responded.

"We need the tracker back from Lamott."

"Okay." She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. "I'm going off comms for a bit."

Without waiting for a reply, she slipped the device out of her ear and crammed it into her coat pocket. The soft leather of her gloves brushed her fingers. As if on cue, the lift door opened and Harry stepped out. They stood for a moment assessing each other until Harry took the initiative and walked in her direction.

"I've been looking for you."

"I need to get the tracker off of Lamott."

She moved to walk past him, but he reached out and firmly placed his hand on her arm.

"Why do you have your coat on?"

"I was going outside to get some fresh air."

"Is that all?" His jaw moved, a slight tell of disbelief.

"Of course." She turned to face him straight on. "What else would I be doing?"

"I don't want you to do anything rash." He kept his hand steadfastly on her arm.

"Why would I do something rash?" Resentment bubbled up; she wasn't a schoolgirl to be chastised for leaving her floor.

"I don't want you to feel you're responsible for the outcome of this operation."

"Do you think I'm responsible?"

"No, I meant-"

"Maybe I am." Her words poured forth in a stream of frustration. "I was the one who made all the conclusions. Found this convention. I was the one who pushed for Lamott."

"You don't have to solve everything."

She turned on him, unable to contain her resentment over the operation. "You wanted me to fail with Lamott."

His grip tightened on her arm. "That is not true."

"Then why aren't you angry that everything fell apart?"

She stared at him, her chest heaving, holding back tears, knowing in the depths of her hearts that she was talking about more than the operation. His fingers dug into her arm, an almost imperceptible grimace of pain stealing across his face.

"I am. But I've been around long enough to know that endings aren't always clean."

"No, they aren't." She slid her arm out from his grasp, her movement underscoring their own unresolved situation. "I have to go find Lamott."

"Ruth," he called after her as she hurried to the lift.

Mercifully, the elevator opened as soon as she pushed the button and she was spared any further conversation. On the journey to Lamott's room, she steadied her breath and collected her thoughts, rehearsing what she would say to him. She only needed to get the tracker, go back to the Grid and start again.

Finding Lamott's room number, she lightly tapped on his door. There was no answer. She waited a moment in indecision. She knocked again, her knuckles rapping harder. Nothing. She held her ear to the door, there was no sound from inside. What if something had happened to him? What if Otero and Morgenstern had figured out that he was passing on information? Overcome with apprehension, she fished the key card out of her pocket and swiped it through the sensor. The lock released and she cautiously opened the door.

"Paul?" She had only used his first name once before and didn't know why she decided to use it now. "Paul?" she called again.

She stepped into the room and let the door swing softly shut behind her. The sun shone brightly through the window, and her eyes squinted as they adjusted from the dimness of the hallway. Two forms stood in silhouette. A blue cooler bag sat on the table between the two men.

"Evelyn?" Lamott walked towards her. "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried." She fished for words trying to process what was actually happening in the room. "I didn't know what had happened to you."

"You shouldn't be here," he cautioned.

She slid her hands into the pocket of her coat.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I was on my way outside to get some fresh air." She pulled out her gloves, the contents of her pocket falling unnoticed onto the floor. "I just wanted to check on you. But if everything's okay, I'll be on my way." She turned toward the door.

"Why don't you stay for a while, lovely translator?"

Even though her back was turned, she knew that the other silhouette was Otero. Instinct told her to slip on her gloves. She remained facing the door, her spine stiffening as another voice joined the conversation.

"The question is what are we going to do with her?"

Morgenstern. The saliva in her mouth instantly evaporated leaving her throat bone dry. The door was only a few steps away. A floor plan of the hotel flashed in her mind; down the hall, the stairwell, up instead of down. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, focused. She bolted for the door, her hand reaching out for the handle. As she turned the knob, a body slammed into her, pulling her arm away from the handle and yanking her backwards so that she spun into the room. Flailing, she stumbled into Morgenstern, vainly struggling to pull her arm free from his grasp.

"Sorry, you know too much." Morgenstern gritted teeth as he wrestled with her.

She opened her mouth to scream, and his hand shot up to silence her. He slammed her back against the wall, her head thudding against the plaster. A stab of pain shot through her skull, her eyes welling up in response. She squeezed them shut. She would not cry. She stopped struggling.

"Are you going to be good?" Morgenstern hissed into her ear, his arm pressing into her ribcage.

She blinked and then nodded. He removed his hand from her mouth, testing to see if she would scream. When she did not, he let go and stepped away. She stood against the wall, panting.

"I'm sorry Evelyn," said Lamott. "They know who you are."

Her mind kicked into overdrive as she scrolled through her options. Three men; she could not physically overpower them, she needed to use her wits.

"I will be missed," she tried to muster as much bravado as she could.

"Yes, I'm sure that salesman will miss you," Lamott said bitterly.

"Except we know he's also a spy," said Otero. "You overplayed your hand when you went for the award. Or rather, you underplayed it with our friend Lamott."

"Friend?" Ruth asked, looking at Lamott.

"You were never going to give me a research position. You were going to drop me back in that forsaken life. DynaGen has offered me more."

"You don't want to do this." She pleaded with him, not wanting to believe he had turned on her.

"How do you know what I want to do? You only know facts, not human beings."

"You don't know what they will do with your research."

"Science is pure. It's governments who makes it evil. My research will save lives."

"They don't care about humanity. It's about money. It always is."

"This is not a debate," Morgenstern cut in. "We need to leave before they come looking for her."

Ruth looked at Lamott, betting that he was still the weak link in the chain.

"They're going to create bioweapon and sell it to the highest bidder. If it gets into the wrong hands-"

"Get the bag," Morgenstern ordered Otero.

"You were so busy watching us you didn't suspect one of your own." Otero picked up the cooler bag.

"There is no way you can get it out of the country," she said desperately.

"We got it in, didn't we?"

"Stop talking. I have to think." Morgenstern held up his hand to silence everyone. "How long does it take for that virus to kill?"

Ruth's heart dropped into her stomach. What would Ros do? What would Harry do? How do you appeal to the ethically challenged?

"Do we have to be so drastic?" Otero carried the cooler bag to where she stood. "Would you like to visit Buenos Aires? We can make things very comfortable for you."

Ruth's mind stalled, the prospect of being torn from her life once again too much to contemplate. They would have to get her out of the hotel. Her necklace. They could trace her.

"Alright," she agreed with Otero, as the other men looked at her wearily. "I don't owe the Service anything. They took my husband. They took my son."

"Why is it I don't believe you?" Morgenstern challenged.

"It's all about self-preservation, isn't it?" She smiled at Otero. "Besides, I hate the cold."

"I always did like you." Otero smiled.

"She's playing us," Morgenstern objected.

"Oh, I'm not that smart."

"That's the problem," Lamott reached up and twisted his fingers around the chain of her necklace. "You're very smart" He ripped the necklace from her throat. "We can't take her with us."

Ruth winced, her skin stinging from the pull of the chain. Lamott casually unzipped the blue cooler bag. She thought of Amaani, the young woman lying in pain, her body covered with sores.

"Paul," her voice quavered as she tried to maintain her dignity.

"Don't make it any harder on yourself." He extracted a pair of latex gloves, the elastic snapping as he put them on his hands.

"Looks like we made the right decision in getting rid or Kessel," Morgenstern observed.

"Could you help Evelyn, or whatever her name is, off with her coat?" Lamott pulled out a vial labelled 'Insulin' and held it up to the light. "Beautiful isn't it?" He brought his face in close, his lips near hers. "Perhaps next time you won't be so cavalier with people's affections." He plunged a syringe into the bottle. "But there won't be a next time."

If only he knew how many lives she had shattered. In the tally of things, her rejection of him was a blessing compared to what she had done to George. Or Harry, whose heart she had woefully mishandled on more than one occasion. She turned her head away. The end was not going to be by fire or ice, but by the innocuous prick of a needle. Let it be quick.

Morgenstern placed his hands on her shoulders, tugging at her coat. Her body moved in passive resistance, her head wobbling as they handled her.

A faint beam of red light glanced across the wall. It quickly disappeared. Had she imagined it? She held her breath, waiting, praying that it would reappear. A red dot formed on Otero's shoulder. She stared at it, her heart suspended. She looked at Lamott, the whites visible around her eyes, telegraphing what she had seen. He swung his head to look at Otero. Everything in the room accelerated. Lamott shouted to Otero as he drew the needle back, building up momentum to plunge it in her arm. A hole blasted through the window, shouts of alarm rising in a cacophony of voices. A body pushed her to the floor, the needle pressing into her coat, the vial rolling near her face as her head hit the carpet. The bottle touched her hand and she tried to move away. A weight fell heavily onto her back, crushing her chest. She gasped, struggling for breath, refusing to give up, but the effort became too much. She closed her eyes. Blackness.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N – Because I can't help myself, this chapter might at some point veer into M territory. As always, many thanks for following along._

It was as if time had stood still, the contents of the room trapped in the rarefied air of a museum, not even a mote of dust had stirred. Ruth frowned; in reality, it had not been centuries since she had last sat in the examination room; it had only been a few days. Of course, nothing would have changed in such a short amount of time; she was the one who was different. She scanned the room, looking for something to occupy her anxious mind. The anatomical model of the human heart still stood resolutely on the desk, slightly tilted off its axis, a chamber door hanging ajar from where Harry had hit it. She wondered if she should go over and fix it. No, she wasn't very good at handling hearts. Finding no distraction, she swung her legs nervously, the cheap paper covering the table crinkling beneath her. There was no clock to tell her how long she had been waiting. They had taken her mobile, her coat, even the gloves. She tried to console herself at the loss of the gloves; they had been far too rich for her anyway. She placed her hand on her shoulder and cricked her neck, a dull ache throbbing in the muscles from where a body had rammed into her. She winced when her finger touched a tender spot, the beginnings of a bruise. The back of her head was still sore, and her forearm was covered with a rash of abrasions. A wad of cotton sat in the crook of her other arm, and she gently pressed against the plaster, wondering if the blood had stopped. Random images played in her mind and she tried to piece together what had happened in the hotel room. Voices had faded in and out, like sounds through water, leaving her with a vague impression of CO19. She had been picked up like a rag doll and wrapped in a blanket, hustled by people in orange suits down to a waiting ambulance. She had not seen anyone from the team, including Harry. If the results from her blood work were positive, she may never see anyone again. She would be quarantined, banished to live out the rest of her days under a plastic tent. Sores, pain, alone. She took a deep breath.

The sounds of a heated conversation filtered through the door, the words indistinguishable. Were they talking about her? The door opened, and she sat up with a start. Harry entered, tie askew, mobile in hand, a look of consternation on his face. She sighed with relief at the sight of him, her shoulders releasing a tension that she did not know she was carrying. He stopped short when he saw her. She probably looked a wreck; hair in disarray, a rip in her skirt. He roamed over her with an assessing eye before he spoke.

"How are you?"

"As well as can be expected."

"They're running tests."

She nodded. He glanced down at his mobile and then rolled his eyes in frustration, remembering that there was no reception so far into the bowels of the hospital.

"Should you be in here?" she asked hesitantly, not wanting to drive him away, but not wanting him to be at risk either.

"We don't have to worry yet."

His eyes gravitated to her bandaged arm, and she self-consciously covered it with her hand. If they didn't see the problem, it didn't exist.

"What's happening with Lamott?" Strange, that she should still feel a sense of responsibility toward the man.

"He's in isolation. They all are. Otero is recovering from a bullet wound and Morgenstern is in custody. If it's any conciliation, you were right."

She gave him a weak smile, but her mouth quickly fell into a grim line.

"He played me, Harry."

"He played us all," he consoled her, taking a step closer to the table.

"But you had a suspicion. You had a sharpshooter trained on his room."

"He was trained on all their rooms. It was a contingency plan."

"I saw the laser." She crossed her arms over her body and subtly rocked on the table.

"You weren't in any danger." He moved up to the table and leant against it, his hand stirring slightly in a half-gesture of comfort.

She gave a sharp laugh, remembering how close the needle had come to her arm, the vial near her face. She wanted to ask if he had known beforehand that she was walking into danger in that room, but thought the better of it. She was afraid of the answer. The question must have played across her face; he spoke as if answering her thoughts.

"We didn't know what was happening. Luckily, you had the presence of mind to drop your comms device on the floor."

"Did you hear everything?"

He nodded. She had said that she owed nothing to the Service. They had taken her husband and son. Words said in the fear of the moment, but holding within them an underlying truth.

"You never trusted him, did you?" she steered the conversation back to Lamott.

"He was a man, subject to human failings. I suspected they might get to him." He gave her a level look, lowering his voice. "I know how hard it is to resist temptation."

Unable to meet his gaze, she focused on her hands.

"They've taken the gloves away. I'm sorry."

"There's no need to be sorry. They were supposed to protect you. And hopefully, they did."

"They were very nice." She ran her thumb over her hand, remembering the feel of the leather. "Thank you."

"I'll get you another pair."

"Oh, no, I wasn't hinting." She looked up at to find that he had inched closer to her. "You don't have to -"

"It doesn't have to mean anything this time."

She blinked at him, letting his words hang between them for a few seconds.

"Did it mean something before?" she asked quietly.

There was a knock on the door, and Harry quickly stepped away from the table. They both turned, composing themselves, doing their best to give the impression that nothing untoward had happened. It was the same nurse that had inoculated them a few days earlier.

"Oh, good, someone is here for you." She nodded at Harry and then turned to Ruth. "Looks like you're all clear."

"What?" Ruth stared at her, dumbfounded, hardly believe the words. "How did you get the results so soon?"

"Apparently, you've got friends in high places."

Harry shuffled his feet.

"But as with before," the nurse continued, "If you experience any kind of symptoms get back here double quick." She took out a penlight. "Let me have another look before you go." She shone the light in Ruth's eyes. "We're not going to rule out a concussion. Is there anyone to stay with you tonight?

"I have a roommate," Ruth answered.

The nurse looked from Ruth to Harry and then back again, obviously trying to puzzle out their relationship. "That's good." She slipped the light back in her pocket. "Well then, stay out of trouble."

The nurse left the room, leaving them to carry on with their lives. Ruth breathed a fluttering sigh of relief, a smile tugging at her lips. A reprieve. She must use it wisely.

"Shall we get out of here?" Harry prompted.

"Yes," she emphatically replied, pausing as she was struck by a thought. "My things are still at the hotel."

"I'll take you there."

"I can find a car." She slid off the table, the paper ripping in her wake. "Is it warm out? I have no coat."

Without hesitation, he took off his suit jacket and handed it to her.

"You don't have to-"

"Stop being so bloody stubborn and let me look after you."

She looked at him in surprise. She took the jacket from him and slipped it around her shoulders. He motioned for her to go before him and they left the room.

They drove to the hotel in silence, the sun flashing through buildings as it followed their progress. Eyes closed, relaxed against the headrest, she sank into the warmth of Harry's coat. The mixture of scents unique to him lingered on the collar and she inhaled deeply. Eventually, she would have to hand it back to him and they would resume their mutually agreed upon professional distance, but until then she would let the material of the man, if not the man himself, enfold her. The silence stayed with them as they ascended in the lift and walked along the hallway to her room. They were so very good at ignoring things. Reaching her door, they stood for a moment in a strange cloud of indecision.

"I don't have a key," she remembered.

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out his card. He swiped it through the sensor and the lock clicked open. They both looked down at the thin piece of plastic, the embodiment of temptation. They had resisted it their entire stay at the hotel. The air was heavy with expectation and a bubble of panic rose in her throat. She had no idea how to deal with it. Avoidance came to mind.

"Could I have a moment to freshen up?"

"Of course." He stepped away. "I've got to pack my kit and check in with Tariq."

The sun sat low on the horizon, the last rays of the day filtering into her room. Crossing to the window, she looked out over the city, the clouds reflecting pink and blue. How could ugliness ever exist in such a world? Reluctantly, she removed Harry's jacket and held the material next to her cheek. They could never be any closer than this. The weekend was an aberration. They had crossed a line at the hotel; it would be prudent to reset it. With a sigh, she turned toward the bathroom; wanting to take a long luxurious soak but knowing that time demanded a shower. Anything would do, as long as it rinsed away the memories of that day. The tap ran full blast as she peeled off her clothes, steam overtaking the room. She stood under the water, letting it work on her sore muscles, while she took a washcloth and scrubbed at her skin. Tiny bottles of shampoo sat on the shelf and she poured out a generous measure, hoping the fragrance would take away the scent of regret. Feeling guilty for staying under the water for so long, she finally turned off the taps and towelled herself dry. On the off chance that Harry had let himself back into the room, she slowly opened the door and peeked around the corner. It was empty. She made a dash to her suitcase and picked out an outfit, wishing that she had different clothes to wear, clothes that were not her. She ran the towel over her hair and plugged in the tiny hotel hair dryer. The lights around the vanity were exceptionally kind, giving her face a youthful glow. Or perhaps it was the layer of skin she had scrubbed off. The hair dryer hummed noisily and she closed her eyes, letting the hot air tickle her scalp. After a few minutes, she turned it off, the silence of the room more apparent. Her cosmetic bag lay on the counter and she dabbed a bit of colour on her face. If only she could take the lighting from the bathroom with her. She headed back out to the bedroom and stopped abruptly when she saw Harry leaning against the desk. He was scrolling through the messages on his phone, his suitcase off to one side, his suit jacket neatly placed on top of it.

"I didn't know you were back."

"I was getting in everyone's way up there." He looked up from his phone. "Did I give you enough time?"

She couldn't help but feel his question wasn't necessarily about her freshening up.

"Yes, I just need to finish packing my things."

Items lay scattered around and she silently prayed that there was nothing embarrassing on view. The wooden hangers in the closet clacked loudly as she pulled out her black dress. She could feel Harry's eyes on her, following her about the room. She lifted her suitcase onto the rack at the bottom of the bed and carelessly dropped her clothes into the hold. Remembering her toiletries, she retraced her steps to the bathroom, crossing near where Harry stood. His hand reached out and captured her wrist.

"Ruth."

She kept her face averted. "I'm almost done."

"Talk to me, Ruth."

She knew what he wanted her to say, that their previous evening together was a prelude to something more. It wasn't, it couldn't be. She had no words to tell him.

"I want to go home," she whispered.

The lament of the forlorn and forgotten. Amaani had uttered those exact words, and like her, Ruth knew she could never go home. She could never go back to her former life. The insular world of a desk spook, removed from the horrors of the field. Harry's thumb moved over the back of her hand in soothing circles. She attempted to pull away but he held on. Succumbing to the comfort of his touch, she relented, relishing it if only for a moment. What could she offer him? A heart decimated by grief. He deserved so much more. She tilted her head, asking in advance for his forgiveness. In all the languages that she knew there were no words to explain her feelings.

"Harry…" She faded off, overcome by cowardice.

"What is it?"

"I don't think…" she swallowed, looking for her resolve. "I don't think there's a place for us. For this."

"I think there is."

"I don't see how."

"We have to make a place." He released her hand, bringing his fingers up to run over the smooth skin of her arm.

"Where?"

"Where ever we can find one."

"Between bomb threats and terror cells?" She couldn't stop the note of cynicism from creeping into her voice.

"Don't say it like that."

"People like us don't get to have a life."

"Ruth."

He gently tugged at her arm pulling her in closer so that she stood between his legs. She stiffened as his knees brushed against her legs, his presence enveloping her. Her vow to create a professional distance wavered, the idea of line quickly evaporating.

"Ruth."

This time her name was a plea bringing her back to the moment.

"We're adults. We know how this life works. You're a brilliant woman. Surely, between us, we can think of a solution."

She looked down, her brow knitting together as she acknowledged her own ingratitude in the situation, how this man had continually offered himself up to her and how she had continually refused him. It had to stop; she couldn't continue to hurt him. He nudged her with his leg, looking for a response. She looked up into his face, so achingly familiar, each crease and imperfection imprinted in her memory, a countenance that she had studied more thoroughly than that of any lover. How she had missed that face – missed him. Instinctively, she raised her hand to his cheek, wonderfully real under her cool touch of her hand. He was solid, he was strong. Everything in her life was broken but he remained. With each breath, her chest expanded. He brought his hand up to cover hers, adjusting it slightly so that his lips pressed against the soft flesh of her palm. Dipping his head lower, he kissed the tender skin on the inside of her wrist. A sigh escaped from her lips. It was no use deceiving herself; she loved him. His hand found her waist and pulled her further into the circle of his legs, his cheek rubbing against hers as he whispered into her ear.

"Don't give up us."

She breathed against his skin, warm and musky, inhaling the layers of his scent until she found the undertone that was distinctly him. She could detect it anywhere. All the times she had sat next to him, the times he had leant into her, the times she had almost tasted him.

If only they could stay in that room forever, flirting with the edge of desire, hidden from the judging eyes of fate. His hand dropped to the small of her back, finding the sensitive spot at the base of her spine. The heat of his fingers seeped through the fabric of her skirt, her nerves coming to life, yearning for his touch on her bare skin. The weight of resistance was becoming very heavy and she was growing weak. Would the world end if she gave into him? She had given up so much, surely the fates would not begrudge her one moment of happiness.

"Here," she whispered.

"What?" he asked against her cheek.

"Let's steal a moment."

He drew his head back and looked at her, eyes dark, lips parted in a question. The courage that had eluded her for so long converged in her chest and she gathered herself together, marvelling that was far easier to move forward than to go back.

"You said we had to make our own place. Let's make one. Here."

He stared at her for a moment, long enough for a kernel of doubt to form her mind. Had she misread the situation? He straightened up from the desk, letting his arms fall away from her sides. A sliver of panic ran through her. She had been too forward with her suggestion. Last night they had talked about taking things slow and now she was ignoring their agreement. She was frustratingly inconsistent. He crossed to the door, and she panicked with the thought that he was leaving. There was the dull thud of metal as he clicked the deadbolt into place. He retraced his steps to where she stood, holding her to the spot with the intensity of his gaze. Still puzzled by his behaviour, she looked at him curiously, thinking that they were going to have a serious conversation on their need for caution. He slid his finger into the knot of his tie and pulled it loose, slipping the silk through his collar and dropping it carelessly onto the floor. He undid the first few buttons of his shirt and stopped in front of her. Her heart thudded in her chest as it dawned on her what she had unleashed, and she took a step back. With one sinuous movement, he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arm around her waist, their bodies crashing together as his lips met hers with a bruising force. Her lips parted in surprise, his tongue invading her mouth in a soul consuming search. With a stunning thoroughness, his hands roamed over her shape, laying claim to all before she disappeared. Any thought of resistance was lost, her mind reeling from the rapaciousness of his desire. Palm moulding over the curve of her hip, his fingers digging into the flesh, he pushed her back against the desk, his hand running down the back of her thigh, lifting her leg against his. She pulled back, words caught in her panting throat. This was definitely not slow. Desire fought with reason - wanting to be taken on that desk, but desperately afraid it would all burn out too quickly. She pressed her hands against his chest, feeling the hammer of his heart pounding beneath her palms. As if sensing her hesitancy, he eased away. Her hands ran over his chest, unable to order her thoughts, fingers gravitating to the opening of his shirt. The remaining buttons slid open under her fingers, and she pushed against him, subtly manoeuvring them away from the desk. Following her lead, his hands moved under the fabric of her blouse, tugging at the material, her arms rising above her as he pulled it over her head. They clung to each other, skin against almost skin. His lips exploring sensitive skin; her throat, the notch of her collar bone, the flushed skin over her chest. He bent her back with the hunger of his mouth, hands splayed across her spine in support. She clutched at his shoulders, trusting that he would not let her fall, curving away with a suppleness she did not know she possessed. His tongue explored the valley between her breasts, lips at the edge of her bra, searching for access. Shifting his weight, he gripped her waist, his lips trailing down her body. She righted herself, still swaying from the initial onslaught. Hands held firmly on her hips for support, he dropped to his knees, his breath hot against her stomach. Her mouth opened, his name forming on her lips but no sound came out. With a growing hunger, he moved to the waistline of her skirt, fingers pulling at the fabric, exposing the top of her hip bone. She stood above him, feeling like a goddess as he worshipped at her feet, the whole experience overwhelmingly surreal. It was too much; she was undeserving of his ardour. Her heart beat wildly and she swayed against him, simultaneously aroused and terrified at the passage of his mouth. What were they doing? They were more than a tryst in a hotel room. They were more than sex and regret and loneliness.

"Harry," she whispered, testing to see if she had the capacity for speech.

He ignored her, focusing on the zipper of her skirt, fingers fumbling as the material caught in the metal teeth.

"Harry." She took a step back and came up to bed. Her knees buckled and she collapsed back onto it.

"What?" He moved between her knees, his hand stealing under the hem of her skirt.

Thoughts collided with sensations as his thumb traced along her inner thigh, the moment having already far exceeded her imagination. She licked her lips unable to think. Everything in her world had fallen apart; there was no reason why she and Harry would be the exception, she wanted to make this moment last as long as possible.

"Can we slow this down?"

"Tell me what you want me to do." His fingers traced over her thigh, pulling at the elastic of her tights.

"Why do you give me so much power?"

"Do I?" He looked at her under heavy lids, as if she had issued a challenge.

In one masterful move, he pushed her back onto the bed, sliding alongside her as he positioned her body on the counterpane. Propping himself up on one elbow, he loomed over her, tracing the outline of her bra, fingers slipping the strap down over her shoulder, his thumb pressing into the hollow beneath the bone. She flinched at his touch. His hand stilled and he looked at her with concern.

"Someone fell on me," she said quietly, not wanting to break the moment, not wanting to be reminded of the events of the afternoon.

The air of the room shifted and the rawness of his gaze fell away. Lifting his head, his eyes scanned her body, taking in the subtle markings on her skin. With delicate care, he traced the red line at her throat where the necklace had dug in, the scratches on her arm, the bruise from the needle, the shadow at her temple.

"I will never let anyone hurt you." He ran his knuckles gently over her cheek. "I would never put you in harm's way."

She closed her eyes, her faith restored in him with the assurance that he had not knowingly sent her into the danger of that room.

He dipped his head to her shoulder, pressing his lips against the bruised flesh. "You are far too precious to me.

Her lip trembled, his tender words tugging at the chains around her heart. She wanted to be free, but the lock of guilt was very strong. She wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all, of each blow and bruise dealt to them, precious years stolen. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Darling," he murmured, his lips pressing softly on her eyelids. "Sweetheart."

Simple terms of endearment said in the affection of the moment, reaching into her with far greater impact than he could ever imagine. Undone with words, the last wrappings of her hidden heart fell away. She would not give up the beauty of the moment to the ghosts of the past. She curled her fingers around the front of his shirt, holding on tightly, refusing to let him go.

"We've lost so much time."

"But we're here now." His fingers traced along her jaw, his thumb moving along the side of her throat, his mouth near her ear. "Shall we find more than a moment?" he whispered. "Can I take my time with you?"

Emotions threatening to spill over, words trivial, she pulled him down to her mouth, lips moving against his, the kiss long and slow. Bodies melding together, sinking into the sensuousness of the moment, she savoured the taste of him. No one could take him away, he belonged to her. Her fingers moved under his shirt, hands pressing against the dip of his back, the skin deliciously warm. His hands reclaimed favoured spots on her body, the rise of her breast, the curve of her waist. Slow touches, cautious of fragile emotions, they held each other, the bed holding them.

A shiver of desire ran through her.

"You're cold,"

"No, I'm fine."

Gathering the top of the sheets, he pulled them back, stopping in mid-motion to look at her. They sat there, drinking each other in as the sun left the room, twilight stealing in around them, the lines of their former selves blurring. She moved her fingers to his throat, fingers tracing over his skin, taking her time as she trailed under his shirt and along the plane of his shoulder. Pulling his shirt off, she pressed her lips against his throat, the skin near his collarbone surprising soft. It was her turn to push him back, kissing his chest as her fingers worked at his belt. His arms moved around her, his fingers releasing the snap of her bra, gliding over her hips and finding the zip of her skirt. A huff of frustration left him, followed by a low chuckle.

"This zipper isn't cooperating."

"You just have to know how to work it."

"I can't do my job if you keep distracting me."

She raised her head, an impish smile on her lips. He looked at her earnestly.

"I want to make you smile."

This man and his simple words, how they could affect her so.

Sitting back on her knees, she moved his hands away and eased the zipper down, lithely removing her skirt. He lay motionless, silently watching her. Even in the encroaching darkness, her body flushed under his gaze. She reached across his stomach, tugging at his belt buckle.

"You might want to do the same."

"What that? Take off my skirt?"

Her smile galvanised him into action. His trousers hit the floor with a resounding thump, punctuated by the clinking of keys and coins.

Slipping beneath the blankets, they held each other, hot skin on cool sheets, limbs entwined, delighting in the feel of only ever before imagined contact. There was nothing between them, no excuses, no regret, only the promise of desires fulfilled. Murmurs and sighs grew into demanding kisses; want hardening, a need stirring deep within them.

With his hot mouth on her breast and his hand between her thighs, she was left to concede that she had no power over him. The band of tension that had engulfed her for days slowly unwound, a more delicious tension taking over her body. It became increasingly apparent that this man was very good at undoing knots. Just as his fingers had artfully slipped the through his tie, they skilfully slid into her, unravelling days, weeks of latent desire. She arched under his touch, her fingers curling against the bed sheets, uncaring of the moans that fell from her lips. The edge neared, so close, but she held herself back, not wanting to let go, not yet. His mouth returned to where her skirt had once been, his tongue pressed against her, finding the hidden spot that was her undoing. Her body rippled beneath his mouth, all control lost and she gave in, tumbling over the edge, limbs falling spent after one final shudder.

She lay panting, exposed, completely vulnerable, no defence left against this man. He spread her legs and she welcomed him, only wanting the feel of him inside her. She gasped as he entered her, a wave of intensity rolling through her, her body having lied dormant for so long.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.

"Yes," she sighed.

Her hands returned to his back, the muscles tight beneath her fingers, sensing that he was holding back. She wanted to tell him to let go; how glorious it was to finally release everything. But words were nothing. She gave into the charged sensation of his body electric against hers, each slow stroke taking her back to a time before. She was that young woman, fresh-faced and not naïve, happy to carry around an unspoken love for this man. She wrapped her legs tighter around him, pulling him closer, her body moving against his, smiles of contentment falling away to pants of pleasure. She whispered his name and he capitulated, flowing into her. The weight of him pressed against her, and she cradled him with her body. Holding on to the very end, he rolled over taking her with him.

This was their place. And having found it once, they could surely find it again.


	13. Chapter 13

The water was warm, flowing around her like a gentle embrace. The sound of moving tides filled her ears and a feeling of contentment washed over her. It had been such a long time since she had been in the sea. She continued to swim beneath the Mediterranean blue, finding it odd that she had not yet run out of air. The sun glittered on the water above her and she swam toward the light, pushing against the current, rising up through the layers of memory, finally breaking through the surface of consciousness with a gasp. Her eyes flew open; she was not in water. Disoriented, she stared out into the semi-darkness of the room. Objects slowly came into focus, a chair, a desk; her first thought being she was still on the run. It was the hotel on the Adriatic. She blinked. No, it was the room in Sanremo. She stretched out her leg, feeling the cool sheets under her skin, and she tried to puzzle out why she wasn't wearing any clothes. Slowly, the events of the previous night came trickling back. Her breath slowed with relief, she was not on the run, she was in a hotel room in London. Directly on the heels of that thought came another. Let it not be a dream. Holding her breath, she hesitantly placed her hand behind her back, fingers feeling the outline of an arm beneath the sheets. She carefully rolled over, not wishing to disturb the owner of the arm. A deep sigh fell from her lips. Beside her pillow, laying disarmingly close to her head, was Harry.

"Good morning," he whispered, voice husky with sleep.

Eyes wide, she stared at him, still not believing in his existence.

"Are you real?" she whispered back.

"I was going to ask you the same question."

They lay for a moment, suspended in the early morning half-light, still covered by the haze of sleep, afraid that if they were to completely awake all would be lost. With tentative fingers, she reached out to touch his face, and he closed his eyes as she traced over the roughness of his early morning cheek.

"For a moment I was afraid," she said, almost to herself.

"Of what?"

"That I was someplace else."

He slipped an arm under her shoulder and drew her against him. The feel of his skin overwhelmed her senses, her mind still grappling with the idea that after so many years they now lay together. The warmth of his body far exceeded the pleasure of the water in her dream, the firmness of his arms anchoring her in the moment. She buried her face in his neck, the smell of sleep and dreams and them still lingering on his skin. She pressed her lips against the spot she had found by his collarbone; it was now hers, no one else could claim it. Only she knew the softness that lay beneath the suit. Her hand moved along his side, the feel of muscle and flesh rippling beneath her fingers. His arms tightened around her, the swell of her breast yielding against the hardness of his chest. He sighed into her hair, as she sank into him.

"I don't ever want to leave here," she murmured against his throat.

"We don't have to."

His fingers skimmed over her back, detailing the outline of her hips as he stirred against her. Without the barrier of clothes, their hands were free to roam, exploring, wandering without premeditated thought.

"We'll have to eat sometime." She kissed the underside of his jaw, stubble like fine sandpaper scraping against her cheek.

"There's always room service."

She gave a hum of agreement, the conversation suspended as their lips met in a lingering kiss, neither wanting to be the first to pull away.

"We could have crepes," she murmured against his mouth.

As his leg slipped between hers, it was clear that his appetite was not for food, his desires much more immediate, his mouth more intent on sampling the offerings of her body. It was hard not to give in but she wanted to extend this moment of early morning lassitude just a little longer. Her finger traced an errant curl on the nape of his neck.

"We could have orange juice and champagne."

"If that would make you happy."

She smiled at the thought that he wanted her to be happy.

"That would be very decadent."

"Very decadent indeed."

He pushed her back and she gave up, sinking into the pillow with a sigh of encouragement as his body covered hers. She gave herself over to him, banishing thoughts of work, and consequence, and their lives outside that room. They came together with a quiet intensity, a melding of breath and want, skin growing damp as they clung to each other.

"This could become highly addictive," he breathed into her ear.

It was true. She would be happy to wake up every morning like this. But like all addictions, it would only be a momentary escape.

Light peaked beneath the bottom of the curtains, reminding her of the outside world. She closed her eyes against it, burying her face once more in his shoulder.

"We still have some time," he whispered. "Go back to sleep."

She did.

.

The sun poured through giant windows of the atrium, only a handful of breakfast diners left to loiter over their morning meals. It was an area she had not fully explored during her stay at the hotel. The room was dotted with an abundance of ferns and potted palms, and she pretended that they were in a newly discovered place, meant only for them. The coffee had grown cold, their food for the most part untouched. Harry sat across from her, one elbow on the white tablecloth, his chin resting in his hand, not trying in the least to hide his look of unabashed adoration. It was a look she had glimpsed before, that evening long ago when they had dined together, but this time instead of nervously fiddling with a napkin, she mirrored his position. It was all rather silly, sitting there like love struck teenagers but at the same time, it felt incredibly liberating to finally indulge in such behaviour. He smiled as if reading her thoughts and she couldn't help but smile back.

"Someone is going to see us here, sitting like this."

"They'll just think, how did that tired old salesman manage to get that beautiful young translator?"

"I'm not that young."

"But you are beautiful."

A flush crept over her cheeks, and she wanted to look away but his eyes held hers, pulling her in as he lost himself in the depths of hers.

"You have eyes like the sea," he observed, the words coming from somewhere deep inside his chest.

This time she did look away, her fingers absently pulling at a pastry. "I bet you say that to all the women you have croissants with in hotel dining rooms."

"I remember wanting to tell you that when we had dinner that time."

She shifted in her seat and lowered her eyes to the croissant on her plate. "You did manage to work in a few compliments that night."

He reached across the table and took her hand. "I replayed that dinner over in my head many times."

There was a vulnerability to the admission, a sign of how deep the memory lay in his psyche. Her fingers curled around his hand.

"I've thought about it too."

"I hope the next time I ask for a second date, you'll say yes."

There was a hint of teasing to his comment but also an underlying note of sadness. She couldn't respond. She wanted there to be a next time, she desperately wanted this to continue, but a niggle of doubt worried at her mind. Even though she knew it was not a dream, it still felt as though they were playing parts, that once they left the hotel they would be confronted with the reality of their lives. The look on Harry's face told her that he felt the same way, that he too was aware of the fine edge that they were walking. He had lived it many times. A passion ignited during an operation, flickering out once doused by the cold water of reality.

"We're going to have to leave at some point," she quietly pointed out.

Thoughts crossed his face as if looking for an excuse to draw out their time together.

"You've hardly touched anything."

"I guess I wasn't as hungry as I thought I was."

He withdrew his hand from hers, giving her a slight nod of resignation. She swallowed hard and looked out the window. They knew each other's minds too well. If only they could learn to speak them.

With an air of reluctance, they both stood up and made ready to leave. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a billfold, placing a few notes on the table. She smiled inwardly at the generosity of the tip. He rested his fingers on the table for a few minutes, his brow creasing in thought. She waited patiently, studying him, the light from the window erasing any grey in his hair, blending it all into a cap of blond. It was a welcome change from the artificial light of the Grid. She filed the image away along with the other memories of the past twenty-four hours. She would bring them out when she lay alone in her bed.

He ushered her out of the atrium and back into their lives.

The drive to Thames House was held in silence, words threatening to shatter the small piece of their encounter that they still carried between them. As they neared the building, she adjusted the thin blazer she was wearing, hoping she would be warm enough, and spoke her thought aloud.

"I still don't have a coat."

"I'll drop you off at the doors."

The car pulled up at the entrance, the engine idling as they sat for a moment. He was only dropping her off, other people did it every day, it's not as if they would never see each other again. For some reason, it felt like goodbye. She looked at him.

"I'll see you upstairs."

He nodded. She had the impulse to lean over and kiss him but immediately quelled it. They were not other people; they were not a normal couple if indeed they were a couple at all. Opening the door, she slipped out of the car, her feet landing with a thud on the hard pavement. She closed the door firmly behind her and watched as he drove away. The air was warmer than she had anticipated, and she stood squinting up at the brightness of the sun, wondering how long she could she could stay outside. She could not avoid her life forever. She entered the double doors.

Arriving at the pods, she paused, attempting to sort through her thoughts. The closer she came to her work life, the farther away she felt from the intimacy they had found at the hotel. It was a strange feeling because even at work the shared a unique form of intimacy. It was like she was two different people and she had no idea how to reconcile the opposing parts. Taking a deep breath, she crossed through the pods.

There was something different about the Grid and it took a moment for her to realise that the desk in front of Harry's office was missing, its former occupant nowhere to be seen. Subsequently, her workstation had shifted back to its original coordinates. Everything had returned to where it was before the operation had started. She walked to her desk, feeling lost. She chalked it up to the fact that she had arrived with nothing. No coat, no bag, no phone. She sat down in her chair, and through sheer force of habit reached out and turned on her computer. She looked up to find Beth standing next to her, holding a grey trench coat in her hands.

"You didn't come home last night." Beth handed Ruth the coat. "I was worried."

"I stayed at the hotel," Ruth replied, taking the coat with a nod of thanks.

"Yeah, Tariq told me." Beth pulled the chair from her desk closer to Ruth. "But everything is okay with the tests and that?"

"Nothing to worry about." Ruth smiled reassuringly, hoping to steer the conversation away from any more questions about her stay at the hotel. "Where's Sandra?"

"She's on a leave. Permanently I hope."

Ruth nodded and logged into her terminal. Beth leant in closer but before she could say anything else, Tariq rushed up to Ruth's desk, a phone clutched in his hand.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Ruth looked at him in bewilderment. "What are you sorry for?"

"I didn't know they were all in the room. I was just thinking about the tracker."

"It's alright," Ruth assured him.

"No, no. It was a stupid mistake. I should have known better. I put you in danger" He ran an anxious hand through his hair, handing her the mobile with his other hand. "It's a new phone, but I got you sim card from the other one so it should all be good."

"Thank you."

"There was a bit of a row with the hospital. They didn't seem to understand that you can't compromise a phone belonging to the Security Services."

Ruth looked down at the phone, trying to remember if there was any compromising information on it. Maybe in the call log, there was her overly long conversation with Harry that night. She put the phone away.

Before she could respond to Tariq, Lucas passed by her desk and stopped to join their informal gathering.

"How are you?"

"I'm good."

He cocked his head as if not quite believing her but decided not to pursue the subject any further. He directed his attention to Beth. "Did you look into Sandra's financials?"

"Did you look into Sandra's financials?"

"Yes." Beth turned back to her desk. "I think there is a link between the money for her mother's care and DynaGen."

Ruth inhaled softly. She had used Sandra's mother as leverage that day in the washroom and it seemed that Morgenstern and company had done the same. It was a very thin line that separated their tactics. She reassured herself that she was on the side of justice. The conversation halted when Dimitri came through the pods. He crossed over to their huddle, his usual energy missing.

"How are things at the hospital?" Lucas shifted onto Ruth's desk, making himself comfortable.

"Otero is in critical condition."

"And Lamott?" Ruth asked.

"He's infected." Dimitri tilted his head apologetically as he delivered the news.

Ruth looked away, blinking rapidly. There was no reason for her to care about that man, he had betrayed her. But he was a human being. She had seen the effects of the virus on Amaani and she did not wish that pain on anyone. She couldn't help but think she was somehow complicit in his infection; she had brought him into the operation after all. He had been her responsibility. There must have been a way for her to stop him from going over to the other side.

"Is there anything they can do for him?" she asked.

"No," Dimitri shook his head. "There's no antidote." He took a deep breath before he continued. "Amaani died this morning."

Another blow. Ruth sat in stunned silence. The girl was no more than a stranger; why was the news of her death so devastating? Ruth had promised that she would get Amaani's family into her but she failed to do so. A weight settled in her chest. It had been absent since yesterday but it returned with an even greater force. While she and Harry had been making love, a young woman had died. She knew of course, that people died all the time, there was nothing she could do, but it didn't seem right that she should find happiness while others suffered. In her heart, she knew that the scales of universal justice were already tipped against them. George, Amaani, Lamott, even Ros. It was as Harry had once said, the bodies kept piling up, and for the most part, they lay at her feet. At the time, she had chastised Harry for giving up, telling him to stay and fight. It wasn't that she was giving up. It was not her right to ask for more than she deserved. She brought her attention back to the conversation.

"What about Morgenstern?" Beth asked.

"He was cleared by the hospital," said Dimitri. "I've got him downstairs. He's been very helpful. Looking to save his own neck."

"From what we can gather," Lucas added, "Kessel wanted out. He was trying to return the virus. That's why they killed him."

"Is he going to turn on DynaGen?" Beth asked.

"They're closing ranks." Lucas stood up from the desk. "Their line is Morgenstern was acting without their knowledge. Sometimes when you catch the little fish, the shark gets away."

"Did we ever find out anything more about that website," Ruth asked Tariq as an afterthought.

"It's disappeared," said Tariq. "I think it was a red herring. Set up to distract us so we would go after it and look no further than Kessel."

"Is Harry around?" Dimitri asked.

"He's at the Home Office," said Lucas.

Ruth frowned. Harry hadn't mentioned in the car that he was going to the Home Office, she had assumed he was coming up to the Grid. Not that he had to tell her his every move. It was a sign of separation. She looked at his office, the emptiness of the room making her feel even more alone.

Lucas lifted himself from Ruth's desk, a signal that their impromptu meeting had finished. The team dispersed.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Beth looked at Ruth with concern. "Maybe you should have taken the day off."

"I don't think I had enough for breakfast."

"Let me get you a coffee." Beth walked away before Ruth could refuse.

Moving on automatic pilot, Ruth pulled up the files for the operation, opening up a document to start her final report. She thought by stripping events down to mere words she could distance her from the outcome, but each time she typed in Lamott's name, it only brought home how they had used him.

In the windowless environment of the Grid, the afternoon melted into the evening without her noticing. Beth had kindly brought her a coffee and a sandwich which had served to sustain her for a remarkably long time. Having let time slip by, she looked up with surprise when Beth stopped by her desk.

"Are you coming home tonight?"

Ruth looked at her blankly.

"It's after seven," Beth pointed out.

"Oh is it?" Ruth blinked in confusion. "Is Harry back?"

Beth shook her head. "Look, I know that it's none of my business…"

Ruth's fingers stilled on her keyboard, but she didn't dare look into Beth's face. Perhaps she had not evaded scrutiny after all.

"I've spent enough time with you to know you're a private person," Beth continued. "I know you and Harry have a history. So no one is going to think anything of it."

"Anything of what?" Ruth asked cautiously.

"When Harry found out that Tariq had sent you after Lamott to get the tracker I thought he was going to throttle him. Of course, it would have been nice if Harry had let us in on his contingency plan. Lucas had to stop him from running into Lamott's room and pulling you out."

Ruth schooled her expression, keeping her face immobile even though her heart soared at the idea that Harry had wanted to run in and save her.

"I've seen the way Harry looks at you. I thought you should know he would have gone into that room and risked everything for you. Not many people are lucky enough to have that."

Ruth looked at Beth, letting the young woman's words sink it, not quite sure how she should respond.

"Anyways," Beth backed away, quickly sidestepping any sentimentality in the conversation. "Let me know either way what you're up to so I don't worry about you."

She walked away, leaving Ruth to mull over her words. The problem was, she had no idea what she was up to. A long sigh escaped from her lips and she returned to the comforting world of analytical data.

Silence and darkness descended on the Grid, and Ruth found herself alone in the pool of light from her desk lamp. There was a comforting familiarity to her solitary vigil, the world was righted, everything in its place. Harry's office had stood empty for most of the day, he had only communicated intermittently through Lucas. It was the usual fallout at the end of an operation, justifying the results to the bureaucracy. She tried not to take it personally, but she felt abandoned. Tapping her fingers, she concluded that he was not returning to the Grid at all. She would have to leave soon if she were to catch the last bus. It was probably for the best that she didn't see Harry, there would be no awkward exchanges, or fumbling excuses, a searching for reasons as to why their hastily stitched together encounter was unravelling so soon. She reached back to the grey trench coat that hung on her chair. It was a holdover from when she had first returned to London and she didn't know why she still kept it. There were so many bad memories attached to it.

A burst of air shot through the room as the pod doors opened. Harry stepped through, his eyes sweeping over the Grid, stopping with a look of relief when they landed on her. She paused with her coat half on. She had not been quick enough in leaving and there was a secret part of her that was glad of the fact. He walked over to her desk with a measured stride, his facing falling back into his usual impenetrable mask. When he halted, she craned her neck to look up at him, waiting for him to speak. Small talk seemed inadequate after the intimacy they had shared that morning, anything work related felt cowardly. She had no idea how to navigate these waters. Harry seemed in no hurry to break the silence, content to stand and look at her as if all he needed was her presence. Nerves growing tight in the silence, she was the first to break.

"You've been gone a long time," she said, stating the obvious, skimming the edge of professionalism.

"I was delayed."

Keeping his eyes trained on her, he reached into the pocket of his overcoat. He withdrew a small navy bag and handed it to her. She paused for a moment, pressing the palm of her hand against the edge of her desk, unsure what she should do. He held the bag closer to her. She could guess what was inside. Taking the bag, she extracted a pair of gloves, exactly like the ones he had previously given her. A smile formed on her lips

"Thank you."

"It's getting warmer, you may not need them."

She slipped them on, once again relishing the feel of the soft leather. She kept her eyes lowered and studied her hands, contemplating her next step. He made the first move.

"I'm giving you a lift."

It was a statement, not a question, giving her no opportunity to refuse. At one time she would have bridled at such a command, but tonight she was tired, and the thought of one last ride in Harry's car was too tempting to resist.

"That would be nice," she acquiesced.

The expression on Harry's face told her that he had prepared for an argument and was surprised at her quick agreement. She finished putting on her coat.

They left the Grid and walked down the hall, arms not quite touching, maintaining that sacred inch of distance that stood between them and abdication. The rhythm of their steps matched and she wondered if this was merely the coda to their relationship, one last meeting before they let it slip away.

Deep in the darkness of the car park, they crossed over the pavement to his car, fluorescent lights casting just enough illumination for the security cameras. The car was half hidden by a pillar, and Ruth wondered if he had parked it there on purpose. Aiming his key fob at the vehicle, he opened the doors with a mechanical beep. She walked to the passenger side, and he stepped up behind her to open the door. As he pulled the door open, his voice spoke at her shoulder.

"Ruth."

She stood for a moment, not quite sure if she had heard his voice of imagined it. She turned around. He stood with one hand still on the open door, the other one resting against the side of the car, effectively trapping her. Her heartbeat fluttered for and instant and then settle back into place as she looked at him quizzically. His eyes searched her face before he spoke.

"This is our place."

She heard his words with a mixture of relief and scepticism. "What, here?" She suppressed a smile. "In the car park?" It was a half-hearted attempt at humour to ease the nervousness she felt.

"No." He dipped in closer to her. "Where we are, together. That's our place."

All humour drained away from the situation and she looked at him earnestly.

"I want to believe that."

"We don't have to find it. It's not somewhere we need to go and hide. It's inside us.

She blinked at him, surprised by his self-awareness in the situation. This was new territory for them; they might come perilously close to discussing feelings. And that, for her, was a very scary proposition.

"I don't know how to have this conversation."

"Neither do I," he admitted.

The car park was very quiet. There was no echo of slamming doors or revving engines. Only the faint smell of exhaust and petrol. She flexed her fingers, testing out her new gloves, brushing them subtly along her old coat. Past and future - two sides of her that she needed to marry. She bit her lip. She had gone forward before, she could do it now. She let go of reason and said the first thing that came to mind.

"I missed you."

Her voice wavered as she spoke. The words encapsulated everything; the day they had spent apart, the months they had tiptoed around each other, the years of separation.

His throat bobbed, his arms straightened out against the side of the car and the door as if he were holding them for support.

"I missed you." The muscle in his jaw moved as he strained to stay in control of his emotions. "I ached for you."

An involuntary whimper escaped from her throat and she instinctively moved into him, pressing her lips against his. A soft kiss, an earnest kiss, meant to ease the pain, acknowledging the dearness of his words. He continued to hold the car as his lips moved against hers. They both had such a fear of completely letting go. Her fingers moved to his lapels, pulling him closer, asking him to trust her. His body tensed, his grip on the car door tightening. Her hands moved down to his sides, pressing against the bulk of him, the fabric of his coat rough on her fingers. This was him, the suit, the control, the hungry heart that lay beneath the stern exterior. This was who they were. Spies, alive in and out of the shadows. She slipped her hands inside his coat, stealing around his waist. This was their moment and she claimed it with a ferocity of purpose. He gave a small moan against her mouth and released his hold on the car, his arms coming to wrap tightly around her. Mouths opening, defences down, they collapsed into each other. Off balance, their feet stumbled, and they fell back against the car. She held him even harder. In their world of shifting allegiances and unknown peril, they were the only constant. If it all came down they would fall together. The moment stretched out along with their kiss, the vehicle grounding them, uncaring of security cameras. Eventually, the need for oxygen demanded they come up for breath.

"I'm taking you home."

Breathless, she nodded, her arms reluctantly falling away from his sides. She stepped up into the car. His hand grasped the metal buckle near her shoulder and pulled the seatbelt from its casing, handing it down to her in a gesture of care. She took it from him.

"It feels like I haven't been home in such a long time."

He tilted his head as he looked at her. "When I said home, I meant my place."

He closed the door on her confused face. She turned around in her seat, smiling to herself as she slid the buckle into place, clicking it shut. He entered his side of the car, his keys jangling as he sorted through them. Reflexively, he pushed his foot down on the brake pedal. Her eyes dropped to his leg, the crease of his trouser pulling tight over the muscle. With uncharacteristic audacity, she reached over and placed her leather clad hand on his thigh. His hand paused on the ignition.

"I can't do my job if you're going to distract me."

"Am I just a distraction then?"

She moved to pull her hand away, but he quickly caught it, pressing it back onto his thigh.

"If this is to be a battle of wits, I will gladly surrender."

She relented and let her hand rest on his leg. He started the engine, the muscles of his thigh moving under her palm as he stepped on the gas. She pressed her fingers against him and then released her hold. He backed out slowly, carefully concentrating as he headed towards the entrance. He nodded to the attendant as they left, no parking pass required. The door to the parking lot slowly opened, and his foot hit the gas, tires screeching as they out sped into the night. She settled back in her seat. They were going to his house. She looked over at him, her chest filling with love. He was right. Every moment that they spent together was their place.

 _The End_


End file.
